


The Skin You're In (STSS 2016)

by AmandaHuffleduck



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dom/sub, M/M, Tattoos, soulmark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 09:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8974588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmandaHuffleduck/pseuds/AmandaHuffleduck
Summary: Merry Xmas  buckybee! Here's your Stucky Thorki Secret Santa 2016 gift. I've managed to incorporate most of your prompt!Soulmates Alternate Universe: Traditional wisdom holds that there's a soulbond for everyone. Even if you don't want it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Buckybee's prompt read: _To be really honest, I'm open to pretty much whatever and I'd love whatever gift comes to my way, but I'm partial to Dom/sub dynamics where the sub is still a badass, original soulmates!au, fics that explore whatever job the characters have. I also love hurt/comfort and fireplaces. And tattoos!_
> 
> Some notes on the Worldframe: around puberty a cryptic mark appears on your body where your soulmate will first touch you. (so many questions, anyway)  
> There is a thriving, centuries old industry based around interpretation of the marks.  
> Societal attitudes towards soulmates are not static, though the current dominant ideology would have you believe it’s always been THEIR way...
> 
> Special thanks to incredifishface (thebookhunter, here on AO3) for quality control and hand-holding.  
> Also to my children, for letting me grab time on their computer/laptop after my laptop gave up the ghost. I have a whole new appreciation for cloud storage.

James marvelled at the exquisitely subtle shading Nat was inking into his left bicep: the gears, the wiring and circuits looked so real, like this really was what was sitting under his skin. The design had begun a couple of years ago as an individual motif to hide the soulmark on his sternum - a flaming skull, 'cause he'd no fucking imagination - but under Nat's guidance it had grown and travelled across his chest, up and over his shoulder and down his arm. It was currently almost to his elbow, but The Plan was to continue to a full sleeve, matching up with the geometric banding he'd done for himself around his wrist.

Nat hadn't said anything when he'd asked for that first, unoriginal tattoo but she'd soon opened his mind to the possibilities beyond the cliches. Nat was a true artist: the skull was a thing of beauty in itself, and James thought he would've been content just with that, but he'd been carried along by her quiet enthusiasm and happily submitted his skin to her ideas. The red tips of the flames had extended up into an organic, eye-twisting tangle blossoming across his pec. Fortunately his skin could hold the red pigment otherwise, yeah, well. Nat had always said she'd had a Plan B but she'd never told him what it was. Maybe she could use it on the other side of his chest?

From there the design had morphed through to the russet and black feathers covering his shoulder. He'd spent hours examining the transition, but didn't think he'd ever be able to emulate it. He was good with line work, really good, but he didn't have Nat's genius for colour.  
The machine elements emerging from beneath the feathers shouldn't have worked, and he'd said as much to Nat when she'd proposed it, but he'd trusted her and the result was spectacular. They hadn't decided yet what was going to happen with his lower arm, but he didn't doubt it was going to be amazing.

James relaxed back into the plastic covered tattoo chair, and let himself focus on the gentle voices of a recorded choir playing softly in the background. Choral was always Nat's preferred choice of music when she was working, never in any language James could understand, even the ones she said were English. The buzz of the needle was a strangely harmonious counterpoint and James floated through it all.

The bell tinkled out in reception as the shopfront door was opened.

"We're closed!" James growled, annoyed with the interruption.

"Then you should lock the door, chump."

Rumlow - broad, brunet, cocky- pushed through the bead curtain into the small studio. The strands of wood and bamboo clacked and rustled closed behind him. He stopped just inside the door.

"Hey, Nat."

She ignored him; he switched his attention back to James.

"Got a _'special needs'_ for you, Barnes." 

James scowled - he'd lost count how many times he'd told this asshole not to use that phrase.

"I don't do that anymore."

"Oh, you'll wanna do this one. Trust me. Tall..."

"Nope."

"Good looking..."

" _Rumlow_."

"... Not an artist."

James' eyes narrowed.

"You asked?"

James had had an augury done on his ‘mark three times, and each time it had come back with ‘artist’, unambiguous, clear as a bell.

"He's straight up military." Rumlow watched James with a smirk. "You'll be getting four-fifty."

"Four-fifty?" James didn't believe him. "What's your cut?"

"One-fifty, on top of that."

"Six-hundred? He's willing to pay _six-hundred_?"

Rumlow nodded, smug, knowing full well James was on the hook.

"I sang your praises, buddy."

James pretended to think.

"Yeah all right, fine. But he gives me the cash, all of it, then I'll give you yours."

"Your lack of trust is wounding me, Barnes." Rumlow thumped the centre of his chest. "Right here."

"Fuck off."

"His number." A slip of paper appeared with a flick between Rumlow's fingers. He didn't hand it to James, didn't move any closer, but pinned it to the notice board to the left of the doorway, right down in the bottom corner, the only clear space amid the chaos of photos and drawings and mementos. The red-topped map pin sat in the middle of the white scrap like a drop of blood.

Rumlow winked at James.

"Let me know how it goes. Bye, Nat."

He waited a moment for a response but she continued to ignore him, working steadily, apparently absorbed. She and James both remained silent until they heard the outer door close.

"He's not your friend, James."

"I know."

"You underestimate how very much _not your friend_ he is." Nat was Russian, her use of English was usually very precise but occasionally the syntax could be a bit... singular. "You owe him nothing."

Except James felt he kinda did. It could've ended real bad for a traumatised, vulnerable sixteen year old runaway from the sticks but... Rumlow hadn't saved him so much as scooped him up before worse predators had, then kept the rest of them away until James had a clue on how to a: recognise them and b: defend himself. And sure, most of what Rumlow had involved him in could be seen as morally, ethically, legally dubious but -

"He introduced me to you."

A fine, dark red eyebrow tipped upwards, even as she remained focused on her work.

"The only good thing he's done for you. And that was not entirely selfless."

Nat had needed someone to house sit, keep an eye on the studio downstairs; Rumlow had hoped to ingratiate himself with this prize of a woman by offering the services of his little friend. It hadn't played out like he'd planned.

When Nat came back, she and James discovered they got on like a house on fire. Nat had swiped him out from under Rumlow's nose, offering James the option to stay at her place anytime he wanted, plus giving him an entry-level, absolute dog's body of a job at her studio. James hadn't thought twice; he’d packed what there was of his shit and claimed Nat’s couch. He'd been really fucking grateful for her intervention so he’d worked hard, with only the minimum of half-hearted grumbling to keep up appearances.

"Still. Six hundred dollars." James mused.

"Four-fifty."

"Whatever, picky. I can use that."

"Your choice, of course." Nat carefully wiped away the excess ink, then sat back to check the progress. The fine creases between her eyebrows were in evidence as she studied her work, but James was grinning.

"Hey look, I've got a cyber arm."

Natasha smiled back, just a small quirk of her lips, but her green eyes were sparkling.

"You are a clockwork boy..." 

James waited patiently while Nat ran through the familiar process of cleaning the new work, washing it down with a witch hazel solution, applying the antibacterial ointment and taping a sterile, absorbent pad into place.

"You know the drill," she said.

He waved her off; of course he did. He was an old hand now at tattoo aftercare.  
As soon as the necessities were done, he slid out of the chair to retrieve Rumlow's bit of paper. He scowled when he read the note Rumlow had left him along with the number.

"He said he called me 'Morty'. Prick."

"Such a comedian." Nat dead-panned. "So, are you going to call this guy? " She stripped off the latex gloves with an efficient snap before resting her cheek against the skin of his right, unmarked shoulder as she peered at the note. "Steve?"

To be honest, James wasn't sure. He'd enjoyed the work and it'd been exciting at first, but then it had become just work. There was no... connection, even with his regulars. He gave them what they wanted but the rituals had become meaningless, leaving him feeling emptier and emptier. So he'd stopped. It'd meant cutting off a lucrative income stream, but by then he was developing his own clientele at Nat's, still ran the occasional errand for Rumlow, still did a little bit of cash-in-hand with Tito at his warehouse. It wasn't like he'd had to find an actual job or anything. 

"Oh what the hell. Sure, why not." He shot his friend a look of overstated concern. "Gee, Nat, will I seem too eager if I call him right away?"

She laughed and punched his arm, the one she hadn't been working on.

"You are always so desperate, loser..."

***

James owned outright his tiny studio apartment. Some of his adventures with Rumlow may have been on the darker side of shady, but they'd sure been profitable. Between that and being a shit hot poker player, he'd been able to amass enough cash to avoid having to take out a mortgage. It wasn't much - it really wasn't much - but it was in New York and it was his.

It was also, technically, his official residence, though he mostly crashed at Nat's nowadays, still making use of her couch. He'd been tempted to sell a few times, because it was a piece-of-shit real estate in an up and coming pricey area, but he always backed out of the idea, even though he had no especial emotional attachment to the place, and could make a sizeable profit to boot. 

The thing was, this was a useful space, good when he'd had paying customers that'd wanted to come to him, and occasionally Nat would ask for privacy, so it was better than hanging around a bar all night fending off strangers. Or knocking on Rumlow's door.

There wasn't much here. A double bed dominated the living area, even though it was up against the wall in the opposite corner to the door, underneath the only window in the place, through which you got to the fire escape. There was a plain wooden chair next to the bed, which he was currently sitting in, that doubled as a bedside table. Directly opposite the bed was a heavy old chest of drawers he'd rescued from the kerb side, and dragged up here on his own. One of his clients had off-handedly offered him five bucks for it, but the sneaky, covetous looks he kept giving it caused James to think it was worth much more than that.

In the kitchenette, underneath a shallow shelf, was a tiny fold away table, miniature cupboards underneath the sink and stove top. No room for a proper oven, not that he knew how to use one anyway, and the toy-sized microwave sitting on top of the bar fridge did a good enough job of heating the 'for one' meals he tended to eat when he was exiled here.

He'd never got around to working up the interest in redecorating, so the pick and mix of dappled grey carpet squares in the living area, floral linoleum in the kitchen, and the beige tiles in the bathroom, could be classed as 'original features'. Same with the mint green walls throughout, though the heavy duty, dark brown blackout curtains he'd put up himself. That had taken an entire day: he had not inherited the 'handyman' gene from anyone.

There was nothing to personalise the space, save for a red plastic clock in the shape of a sausage dog on the wall above the chest of drawers. He could've been sitting in a cheap, very cheap, dive of a motel room - except for the two plain steel eye bolts screwed into the top of the bathroom door frame - but it was clean, vacuumed and dusted regularly, and there was no mould in the minimalist by necessity bathroom.

 

There was a firm knock on the door.

James quickly checked his posture (relaxed but in control) before responding.

"Come in." 

The door opened and... oh boy. For once Rumlow hadn't been pissing around. Tall, good-looking white man in well-fitted blue jeans, red baseball cap, blue bomber jacket... Did those shoulders only just fit through the door or was that just James' imagination? For a second he wondered if there'd been a miscommunication - guy that big, so obviously in his body... James silently chastised himself for his bias: submissives came in all shapes and sizes.

"James?"

The first thing he'd said when 'Steve' had answered the phone was _'my name isn't Morty, it's James. Just so we're clear'_. Steve's laugh had been threaded through with nerves. ' _yeah I wondered. Your guy didn’t seem serious.' 'He's not my guy.'_ James had wanted to say.

"That's me. Come in. Lock the door."

James' noticed his guest's glance flicker first to his black-gloved hands, then to the briefcase laid out flat on the bed, and then from there up to his eyes, taking in his 'work' uniform - the more formal version, white long-sleeved shirt, black pants, black vest. None of James’ tattoos were visible.

"Come over here. In front of me."

Even with him standing a couple of short paces away, James had to tilt his head back to look the guy in the face. He towered over him, but there was nothing threatening in his posture.

"Six-hundred, right?" 

Steve pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, counted out the cash and handed it over. Was his hand shaking? James counted out three-hundred and handed that back. This wasn't exactly a spur of the moment decision; he'd never been going to accept that amount just to satisfy Rumlow's greed.

"You sure?" Steve asked. "I'm prepared to pay what was quoted."

"You gonna quibble the price? The lower price?" James' eyebrow quirked. "Take it or leave it, there's the door."

Steve still looked dubious, but he returned the cash to his wallet.

"I have one rule." James said. That got the guy's attention. He stood fractionally straighter, a little bit wary now. "You don't touch me, at all. We good with that?"

Steve swallowed, nodded.

"Good. Get undressed. If you've got a phone switch it off."

There was short-cropped blond hair under the baseball cap, shaved almost to his scalp except for the slightly longer stuff on top. He was in his late twenties, perhaps early thirties. Older than James by a good few years at any rate.

James made no attempt to hide his regard as Steve stripped, folding his clothes and laying them on the bed in a neat pile. There was a plain grey t-shirt underneath the jacket, tight around his arms and across his pecs. Naked, his legs looked longer than they had in jeans, the muscles more defined. Thick blond hair on his legs, a darker patch at his groin trailing up to a smattering of blond on his chest. He was…

James made himself focus, looked his client up and down, an obvious and appreciative smirk on his face.

"You done this before?"

Steve gave him a curt nod.

"Good. Kneel in front of me. Knees apart, hands behind your back."

He was... beautiful like that. Blue eyes. Full lower lip. No scars. No tattoos. No... soulmark, not on the front of him leastways, 'cause James was checking. He always checked.

"You got a safe word?"

"Nantucket." Steve responded quickly. He lifted a shoulder at James' look. "It's a long story."

"Alrighty then." James tilted his head to the side, gazing clearly at the man at his feet. "What do you want? What do you need? " He cut Steve off before he could answer. "Let me guess..."

He pressed the sole of his boot against a toned stomach. So toned. Jesus Christ. He swore he could feel it through the thick ridged soles of his work boots.

"Pain?" James studied his face. "Nah. Humiliation...? Nah. Restraint..?" There it was, the tell, the hitching in his breath, the widening of his pupils. "Theeeere we go."

James lowered his foot, was leaning close, intimate. His tone low and confiding. 

"How long has it been?" 

Steve swallowed.

"A year. More."

"You want this?"

"I do." Breathless.

Steve didn't flinch when James abruptly stood up. He took a moment to loom over the guy, getting a kick out of having him look up at him, a reversal of their first positions. He kept his back to him while he opened the briefcase, the catches flicking open with loud snaps. James considered what he'd brought with him: the basics, enough from experience to cover the majority of likely requests.

The collar and double cuff combination was well used but cared for. The thick black collar went around Steve's neck.

"Not too tight?"

Steve shook his head. His mouth was shut but he was breathing through his nose, laboured, like his airway was constricted, but it wasn't that, no sir. James squatted behind him, fitted the matching cuffs to his wrists, ankles - meticulously avoiding skin contact - then tightened up the connecting straps, forcing Steve's head back, forcing his spine to arch and open his knees wider for balance. He was very flexible for a guy his size.

James paused to check the tension of the harness, and to see if he could spot a 'mark on Steve's back, shoulders, scalp. Still a blank, though there were still places he couldn't see properly yet - backs of his legs, behind his balls - but he absolutely wasn't going to touch him if he couldn't see his 'mark.

He stood, looking down at Steve's splotchy red face that was just about pointing at the ceiling.

"How you doing?"

It took Steve a moment or two to focus on him, blinking, he was zoning out really quickly. Either he was very trusting or he really needed this.

"'m good."

"Good boy. You will tell me if you start to cramp."

James let himself look at Steve's body, the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen, his thighs, straining shoulders. Gorgeous in his imposed stasis. Prick already flushed and hard: James decided against a cock ring this time.

"Struggle for me." James whispered. "Test the bonds."

Steve obeyed, his muscles straining further, popping out under his skin. The leather creaked - he was very strong.

James sat back down then leant towards him, continued murmuring soothing filth about how good he looked, how ripe; how he'd loved to shove his fingers in his mouth, up his ass; watching all the time for Steve's responses, to see if he was being pushed too far. Didn't appear so, not the way his cock was jumping.

Twenty minutes in - he'd been keeping an eye on the sausage dog clock - and James deemed this was enough time for someone who hadn't played for a while. Steve was beginning to show signs of overload, thighs trembling, breathing becoming more laboured through his open mouth, exhaling on a whine he probably didn't realise he was making.

"You want to come?"

He waited for affirmation, a barely audible 'yes', before placing the sole of his boot squarely against Steve's rigid cock, pressing it hard against his belly. James slid his foot up and down twice, three times and Steve came with a strangled moan, broad chest heaving, the whole of his body staining red with exertion.

James knelt behind Steve, carefully releasing the straps and cuffs, giving him time to adjust to the idea of his body supporting itself again. The collar came off last, with James' hand carefully placed - he'd double-checked - on a patch of unmarked scalp, bracing Steve's head and gently urging him upright. James picked up the harness where it had fallen in a heap between Steve's thighs and tossed it aside.

Steve was still kneeling, hunched forward and head down, breathing ragged and rough, but James reckoned he was stable enough to leave alone for the few seconds it took to fetch a bottle of water from the fridge.

"Drink now." 

He put the bottle to his lips, allowed him a few swallows, before leaving him again to get a warm, wet face cloth from the bathroom. James sat back down and with two fingers under Steve's chin, got him to lift his head enough he could wipe his face then clean up the come on his torso. When he'd finished Steve sighed deeply and slumped forward, resting his cheek heavily on James' knee.

James froze; Steve was nowhere near his 'mark but over the years he'd managed to develop a superstitious paranoia about being touched.

Steve jerked back.

"Shit, sorry, forgot."

James wrestled with himself.

"It's okay." He said at last. "I'll allow it."

Steve relaxed forward again, slower this time. James, after carefully inspecting the back of his neck, rested his gloved hand there. He could swear Steve fell asleep then, though he stirred only a few minutes later, straightening up, pushing his shoulders back.

"Thank you, that was..." His expression was peaceful.

"Needed?" James handed him the water bottle.

"Yeah. And..." Steve sounded shy. "I've still got three hundred dollars."

James' shrugged, but he was smiling.

"You got my number. Call me."

 

He watched Steve get dressed, unabashedly enjoying the view. Steve kept flashing him these little sideways looks and somewhat flustered smiles; James was leaning back in the chair, making no attempt to hide his arousal. He'd been so focused on Steve he hadn't paid himself much attention, but now…

"You okay to get home?"

"I've got a buddy coming to pick me up." Steve settled his cap on his head. "Well. Thanks..."

"Call me. I mean that."

"I will." Steve unlocked the door but James spoke up before he could leave.

"You're a clean-skin." 

Meaning he had no soulmark. It wasn't a question.

Steve shrugged his shoulders, rueful.

"Delayed puberty." _Whatever that meant_. "See ya."

 

James was out of the chair as soon as the door shut, darting over to listen for the sound of Steve walking away before fumbling shut the lock.  
Now he was alone... He collapsed back against the door, reaching down to cup himself through his trousers.

 _Jesusfuckingchrist_. He wanted to see Steve again, could imagine him bound and prepped, open, imagined fucking into that glorious body, or, or better yet, Steve underneath him and James riding that glorious cock…

He'd barely managed to get his prick out before he was swearing loudly and coming all over his hand…

***

He let himself into Nat's place, left the briefcase by the door, stalked over to the kitchen and threw his keys on to the counter before heading straight for the liquor cupboard and the quality stuff from the back.

"That bad?" Nat enquired from the couch, watching him pour himself an almost full glass. "That good?"

James took deep drink.

"He's fucking perfect, Nat."

His friend's 'huh' was soft, but amused.

 

Later, after a hot shower, and when the endorphins and alcohol buzz had well and truly fucked off, James was hating on himself.

He shouldn't have asked Steve about his 'mark. That was private, not anybody's business but the person carrying it, and the one destined to touch it. Even if a 'mark was visible to casual view, you didn't look, you didn't ask, you pretended you couldn't see it. Customs around the viewing of 'marks changed over time and from place to place but here and now in this largely conservative society it was only radical fringe elements that went to the trouble of flaunting them. Mostly everyone else covered them up with clothes, or one of the many specialised products. Some people, like James, even went so far as to try and obliterate them from view entirely.

James glared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror: he was such an asshole. Steve had been especially vulnerable, naked in front of someone he didn't know. You'd think James would've had a bit more sensitivity given his own experiences.

The night Rumlow had found him, a skinny, hungry, anxious kid, he'd taken him somewhere safe, out of the cold, given him food and something to smoke. And then, when James was too high to resist, he'd rummaged around inside his clothes, pushing them out of the way until he'd found what he was looking for. Then he'd lifted his own shirt up, exposing his own 'mark, and grabbed James' hand. James knew this wasn't right, you didn't force someone like this, but between the older man's strength and the effects of the drug he was helpless to stop it.

Rumlow had touched his fingers to James' 'mark at the same time as he'd pushed his hand against his skin - the best way, supposedly for the miracle to happen. Muzzy-headed and panicky as he was, it'd taken several seconds for James to realise that nothing had happened, nothing had changed, no miracle. 

"Now we know we don't have to worry about that." Rumlow had leered down at him.

James had turned his head to the side just in time to not throw up too much on himself.

***

"The _fuck_ , Barnes?"

Rumlow was mightily unimpressed with the paltry $50 James handed over.

"You overcharged and you know it."

"I charged what the market could bear. Capitalism one-oh-fucking one!" He scowled at the banknote in his hand. "And even if I went along with your, frankly, moronic decision to only collect half what I quoted, I'm owed $75 not fucking $50! Twenty-five percent commission on anything I set up for you, remember?"

There'd been a time when James would've tried to at least placate Rumlow, or worse, given him the full $150 he'd been expecting. Not any more. James was no longer intimidated by him or his aura of barely restrained violence. Rumlow, it seemed, was only just now beginning to understand that.

"I'm never helping you out again."

"Didn't ask you to do it in the first place."

"Yeah well, fuck you. Don't come to me when you need someone to clean up your shit."

James glared at Rumlow's back as he stalked away. _Twice_ , in the decade they'd been acquainted Rumlow had sorted out situations for him, _twice_ , before James had wised up, stopped trusting and started looking out for himself. 

Nat was right, of course, Rumlow was not his friend, never had been. The illusion of friendship had waxed and waned depending on how useful he was to the older man. He'd worked that out pretty early on, he wasn't an idiot, but why did he keep letting him back into his life? James was still trying to figure that out.

"You think he'll finally wipe his hands of you, you ungrateful brat?" Nat had asked later, over Chinese take-away in her apartment when James had poured out the story.

"I fucking hope so." James sighed, dribbling the dregs of the lemon sauce over the remains of the special fried rice. He grinned when Nat pulled a face. "It's delicious, you should try it."

She pretended to gag.

"Some things should not be sullied, barbarian. A good special fried is one of them." She tapped her nails on the counter and got back to the subject at hand. "I think he'll give up on you. You haven't been profitable for him for a while now."

She quirked an eyebrow at James' non-committal noise.

"You don't agree?"

"I've been 'not profitable' for him before, and yet..."

"Then my advice is to keep being not profitable and even he will eventually see it."

***

James had been swinging between trying not to get his hopes up about Steve contacting him again, and accepting that he probably wouldn't. But as a few days dragged past with no call he'd decided that if he hadn't heard from him within a week he'd take the initiative, because he needed some sort of resolution.

Steve finally called him two days before his self-imposed deadline.

It'd gone eleven and James was already tucked up on Nat's couch, snuggled down and cozy beneath the crazy patchwork quilt he'd found in a goodwill shop. He'd put his book down but hadn't got as far as turning off the table lamp yet.

His phone buzzed, displaying Steve's number, and James had to take a deep breath before answering 'cause he was suddenly, stupidly breathless. And he was going to apologise. Yes he was. 

"Hey, you ready for round two?" James blurted out, then winced: that was overly loud and overly cheery.

"Oh yeah, absolutely." Steve chuckled. "But I'm going to have to take a raincheck, sorry. Gonna be out of town for a little while."

In the background James heard someone say: _Steve, c'mon man, we gotta go_.

"Okay, thanks for letting me know." The disappointment he was feeling was disproportionate, surely? "How long for?"

"Unknown." Steve sighed. "Could be a week, three, but if you haven't heard from me after two months, you probably won't hear from me at all."

It was said lightly, jokingly, but…

"You better come back, I need that three hundred." James was stern. "Don't go getting yourself... hurt, or whatever."

"Nossir, I won't." It was practically a purr, low and promising, making James' toes curl. "See ya."

He hung up before James could respond, or make his damn apology, but fuck, the sound of his voice. James' hand was fumbling down inside his sweatpants and stroking -

"Don't get semen on my couch, James."

"Jesus, Nat!" he yelped. "A little privacy."

"I'm serious about my couch."

"Go _away_!"

Her lips quirked into a small smile and she threw a box of tissues at him before disappearing soundlessly back to her room, deceptively cute in her pink pyjamas with the fluffy white clouds. 

***

Three weeks passed with no word from Steve, then four, five. Which could mean - James' agitated brain reasoned - that he'd never had any intention of getting back to him, or he was dead. He was a soldier, right? That was what he’d been hinting at, right?

James didn’t know how he could find out, he didn't even know the guy's last name, for fucks sake, or what unit he was in, or where he'd gone. Yeah right, good luck convincing military admin he had a right to know. And why was knowing such a big deal anyway? He'd cut his losses with less provocation before. James rubbed absently at his 'mark and told himself not to be stupid.

 

One afternoon, six weeks later, his phone rang and he almost fell off the couch lunging for it. Almost didn't answer when he saw who was calling, then smacked himself mentally over the head. Don't be a shit.

"Hey, Lizbeth, how you doing?"

" _BuckyBuckyBucky_! I'm getting married!" 

His heart dropped to his stomach, even as his little sister's squeal threatened to deafen him.

"That's... wow. Congratulations." She'd already soulbonded with the guy. Why did they need to get married?

There was a pause: he could almost picture her chewing her lip.

"I'd really love for you to meet Andy before then."

"Yeah, look, I'll try. Okay? I promise." He scowled down at his crossed fingers. Liar liar.

"Bucky, please." She was almost pleading with him. "It's important to me. And... and Marie would love to see you - she'll talk you to death about her bridesmaid's dress, just warnin' you - and Aunty Rose and Uncle Darren will be so glad..."

James had loved his little sisters. He thought he still did, but the guilt tended to swamp everything when he was interacting with them. He'd been skittishly happy to get back in contact, once he was legally an adult and couldn't be forced to go and live with his aunt and uncle. His sisters had been besides themselves when he called. Marie had sobbed, told him they thought he'd died and they'd been so sad. It was a shitty thing he'd done, he'd finally admitted to himself, he shoulda contacted them way earlier.

He made a point after that of calling them at least once a month, always, always heart-in-mouth-on-edge in case it was his aunt or uncle that picked up the phone. He didn't know why, they'd done nothing wrong, and they'd been real good to his sisters, but he couldn't bear the thought of talking to them.

James'd been appalled when Lizbeth had told him she'd bonded. She'd been so young! Twenty two, for fuck's sake! How could this be real? She'd tsked at him, overrode his concerns.

"I know how you feel about soulbonds, Buck, I do. But it's... wonderful. " Her breathy, audible expression of happiness stabbed him right through the heart.

"But mom and dad - "

"Are a terrible example. The worst! Aunty Rose and Uncle Darren, they're the real thing. Just seeing them together is so..." She sighed happily. "Sure they argue, everybody does, but it's not... it's not dangerous when they do. They don't hate each other. They have a normal relationship. Which you'd've learnt to recognise if you'd stayed with us."

James had no response to that. He couldn't explain why he'd bolted, just that he had to. He'd felt terrible leaving his sisters behind, but he couldn't stay after what'd happened, and he couldn't have looked after them properly if he'd taken them with him…

"It was a while, sure,” Lizbeth continued. “- a couple of years before Marie and I stopped hiding when they argued, but it got better. We all worked together, the four of us, and it got better."

James was having trouble breathing. Their parents had fucked them up so badly, they deserved what they did to each other, but despite their example Lizbeth still wanted to get married? That was just winding more chains around herself.

"I'll think about it, I promise. I gotta go. Love you, bye."

He disconnected the call, feeling wretched for all sorts of reasons, like he always did after talking to his sisters. He breathed in deeply, held it, breathed out slowly.

His phone rang again.

James was all prepared to answer with a snappish - 'I said I'd think about it' - because it woulda just been like Lizbeth to ring back and harass him, but thankfully he didn't mouth off as soon as he pressed the button because -

"... James?"

" _Steve_? Hi! Good to hear from you!" He was not going to babble questions at him because even with that single word he could tell that something was off. "Are you okay?"

A short laugh, dark and sharp.

"Been better. Can I see you? Soon?"

James' groin was already tightening in anticipation.

"Sure, I'm free... pretty much whenever."

"Tonight? If that's possible?"

James frowned; Steve was sounding kinda strung out.

"Nine?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Okay then…

***

Steve arrived at precisely 9pm. James immediately ordered him to lock the door, then strip. He didn't make him kneel, though he did instruct him to put his hands behind his back, which Steve did, automatically settling into that thing the army did - what was it called? Parade rest: feet slightly apart, weight centred over his feet, shoulders down, chin up. He wasn't relaxed though, at all, and he was giving out the sort of vibes that promised swift, violent action.

James, fully clothed, stood to face him, let himself sink into the mindset and subsequent body language that said _I'm in control_.

He looked him over in silence: there was a patch of rough skin on Steve's ribs, a healing injury, and slight evidence of something similar on his cheek.

"Are you hurt?"

"Just a little roughed up. It's all superficial."

"You'll tell me if you're in pain."

Steve nodded, and with that sign of acquiescence to James' command, his edges began to loosen, soften.

"What do you need?" James asked.

Steve drew in a shuddering breath.

"I need... to be taken out of myself. For a little while. I don't want to make any decisions."

"Tired of being in charge?" James hazarded a guess. Steve's fair eyebrows rose in surprise, then he looked down.

"Yes."

"No shame in that. I can make all the decisions tonight."

Steve glanced up at him, through long eyelashes, bit his lip and nodded.

"You will do exactly as I say." James ordered with quiet authority. "You don't touch me. You will tell me if there's a problem, any problem. You will use your word if you need to. What is it?"

"Nantucket." Barely a whisper.

"Good. I want you to grab the top of the door frame there, facing the bathroom."

Steve could easily reach, that wasn't going to be a strain, though James watched carefully as he raised his arms. The damage to his side didn't seem to be an issue. James stepped close enough, almost, to touch.

"Don't let go." He didn't miss the way Steve's eyes flitted over the bolts. "Do I need to chain you? Can I trust you to hold position?"

"I can do this."

"Look in the mirror." James whispered. "Look at yourself."

Steve licked dry lips then lifted his chin. The mirror was above the sink and just big enough to catch his face. James looked over his shoulder, through the small gap between his neck and a thickly muscled arm. Steve's reflection showed the blush forming on his cheeks and throat.

"Beautiful." James murmured approval: the blush spread further. "Don't look away."

This close, James could smell Steve's skin, soap and metal: he had the irrational desire to kiss between his shoulder-blades but restricted himself to a brief touch, with one gloved fingertip, on a space that was definitely blemish free. But... he could touch him, couldn't he? As long as he checked to make absolutely sure there was no 'mark, and that Steve's hands didn't come anywhere near him?

Swallowing his superstitious unease, James let his finger trail down Steve's spine, the skin shivering and twitching in its wake.

"You will tell me if you're going to break your hold."

"I won't. I can do this." 

"Good." James let his approval show again in his voice. "I want to use a plug on you. Is that all right?" Steve had tensed right up. "You can say no."

"No, I... yes, I do want that but... it's been a while."

"We'll go slow, I promise." James brought his lips close to Steve's skin. "If you say no at anytime I'll stop, all right?"

"... yes." 

"Spread your legs. Feet up against the door frame."

James switched his leather gloves for latex examination ones as Steve positioned himself. That dropped his height a little bit but not enough to make it any harder for him to keep his grip.

"Ok, easy now..."

James used one hand to spread Steve's ass cheeks a little, wide enough to slide the tip of a dry finger up against his anus. Steve twitched away from the intrusion.

"Shh, shh, trust me. I'm not going to hurt you."

He waited for Steve to relax - a deliberate effort - before lightly circling with his finger tip, the glove catching slightly on sensitive skin. James pressed forward again, just enough to begin penetration, but Steve stayed relaxed, breathing deeply if raggedly.

"You're doing so well."

A good dollop of lube on his middle finger and James was pushing back in, Steve shuddering at the sudden coolness. James circled and pressed, circled and pressed, in and in, little by little.  
He was watching Steve's face in the mirror.

"Relax. Breathe out."

Steve's eyes widened as James' finger slipped in up to the second knuckle.

"That's the way." James crooned. "Are you all right?"

Steve nodded, a quick jerk of his head. His fingers had tightened on the door frame.

James thoroughly worked the slick in, until his finger was moving back and forth with ease: he twisted the digit and crooked... just there. The shudder that ran through Steve this time was accompanied by an audible whine and a dropping back of his head.

"Keep your eyes on the mirror."

Steve snapped his head back up, focusing on his reflection with some difficulty. James was enjoying himself, drinking in the desperate look on Steve's face as his prostate was manipulated.

"Second finger now, okay? Can you hold on? Do you need a break?"

A jerky shake of his head and again James resisted the temptation to put his mouth on him, kiss the bunched up skin at the junction of neck and shoulder.

"You are amazing." He whispered, but wasn't sure that Steve was hearing him, because his full concentration, his complete focus right now was centered in his body and the sensations James was making him feel. Nothing else mattered outside of that.

In fact, James judged he was so far into the headspace that stepping away to get a plug would break the flow of what they'd been building. That's okay, fingers were fine. James would keep him there, wrung out and at the edge for as long as possible. But - James cast a professional eye over the man hanging on to the door frame like his life depended on it - in reality that probably wasn't going to be that long. Steve was sweating, trembling, the tension in his shoulders and thighs obvious and... arousing. 

James was so turned on right now, all he had to do…

Nope. No no. That hadn't been agreed on and he didn't want to ask and risk pulling him out of the moment because Steve was almost there, swaying slightly in rhythm with the movement of James' fingers inside him, eyes half-closed but fixed on his image in the mirror.

James reached over Steve's hip with his free hand. Steve groaned, long and lush as he was stroked, the amount of precome already there negating the need for anything extra. Not that chafing was going to be a problem because Steve was ready ready ready. 

James did give in to temptation then, just the lightest, briefest caress of his lips against Steve's skin as he climaxed.

"Good. So good." James breathed into his ear. "You can let go now."

Steve uncurled his fingers slowly, one at a time, then let his arms drop to his side. James quickly whipped off the soiled examination gloves before lightly gripping the back of Steve's neck.

"Can you make it to the bed?"

Steve nodded, still well out of it, and accepted James' guidance. His legs were shaky and James' hand on his neck seemed to be the only thing keeping him on his feet.

Steve sprawled on his stomach, almost asleep. James stroked his fingers, gingerly, through the sweaty hair on his temple.

"Back in a moment."

He came back with a water bottle and a wet cloth. He mopped up the sweat on Steve's back and shoulders and legs before gently attending to the minimal mess between his thighs.

"Turn over, sweetheart."

Steve did as he was told, but slowly; he was floating, blissful. He drank from the bottle that was held to his lips then sank back down, barely twitching as James cleaned up the front of him.

"Make yourself comfortable."

Steve curled up on his side, hands under his chin, knees almost to his chest, displaying that flexibility again, his head resting just next to James' thigh where he'd sat, but not touching. James pulled a light blanket over him, and watched as he sunk in to sleep.

Steve woke naturally fifteen minutes later, clear-eyed and relaxed.

"Hey." James smiled down at him. "How you doing?"

"Fantastic." The word was slurred a bit; his mouth wasn't fully back online yet. "Can I buy you a beer sometime?"

"Sure." James heard himself say but the sheer width of Steve's smile made him not entirely regret his impulsive response.

Steve dressed, in no hurry, every movement loose and languid. James indulged himself with looking, again, knowing that that view of that ass, those thighs and those shoulders were going to figure prominently in his imaginings for some time.

Steve handed him the three hundred, which... James had forgotten about, and didn't really want now, to be honest. But he took it, because he wasn't prepared to face the ramifications of refusing.

"Thanks." Steve stood there awkwardly, looking like he had something he wanted to say, or do. "I'll call you. About that beer." 

"Sure." James was still smiling, like an idiot, his brain supplied.

Steve left, with a final, soft lift of his lips before closing the door behind him. James fiddled with the cash in his hand. He still hadn't made his apology, and... he should probably change his mind about that beer. He felt closer to Steve after just these two sessions than anyone else he'd dommed for. And that felt just like a disaster looming on the horizon. 

***

 _He should’ve said no_.

“Wear the blue shirt.” Nat had suggested.

“I’m not dressing up.” James had scoffed. “It’s not a date.”

“Wear the blue.” Nat had insisted. “It makes your eyes pretty.”

“My eyes are already pretty.” James had scoffed again.

But he’d worn the blue shirt.

He should’ve said no... because this wasn’t just two dudes hanging out, it _was a date_. James knew it. And going by the open look of happiness on Steve’s face when he saw him, Steve knew it too.

“You look great!” Steve said. He was very carefully keeping his hands to himself. 

James’ heart gave a joyful thump in his chest, something he absolutely hadn’t given it permission to do.

“Thanks. You too.” James’ grin was warm and frankly appreciative, his gaze taking Steve in inch by delicious inch. He particularly liked the way the scrutiny made Steve blush, just a little.

“Make yourself comfortable.” Steve indicated the small booth he’d just stood up from. “I’ll get us some drinks.”

James watched him walk away, moving easily through the crowd of patrons: he looked good from that angle, too. 

James didn’t know this bar, it was well out of the way of his regular haunts, but it was clean and not too loud. The three big screen tvs were almost muted, and strategically placed up high so they could be viewed from practically everywhere. At the moment they were showing something fast and colourful involving horses - wait, were they Shetland ponies, ridden by children, running a tiny steeplechase? That was so cute - 

“Here you go.” Steve took the seat opposite him and raised his glass. “Cheers.”

James responded and they clinked glasses.

“Did you have any trouble finding the place?” Steve asked.

“Nah.” James shook his head. “Been coming here long?”

“A few years.”

James felt like rolling his - pretty - eyes because, for fuck’s sake, he’d had his fingers up the guy’s ass, small talk now was just weird. 

“How’ve you been?” He asked sincerely. “You look less… you look better.”

Steve breathed out sharply.

“I am better.” His smile was shy again, but loaded with nuance. “Thank you.”

James steeled himself. 

“First up, I gotta apologise for asking about…” he lowered his voice. “Your ‘mark. That was really rude, I’m sorry.”

Steve looked surprised for a moment, then he shrugged.

“It’s fine, really. You weren’t the first to ask, you won’t be the last.” 

“Just how many people have seen you naked?” James was aiming for lightness and Steve, to his relief, smiled broadly. 

“You know how it is: doctors, school locker rooms, barracks, communal showers, swimming pools...”

James chuckled. 

“Thanks, I don’t feel so bad now.”

They were grinning at each other. It was nice.

“Can I ask - “ James began, careful, voice lowered. “ - and you don’t have to answer, but how did you find out you’re a sub?”

Yeah it was a personal question, but one James asked of nearly all the subs he met. He was genuinely curious.

“Ah, well.” Steve scratched his head.

“You don’t have to answer.” James repeated with a lopsided, don’t-take-me-serious grin. 

“No, no.” Steve was laughing now. “I don’t get much opportunity to talk about this so I’ll be delighted to overshare.” He leant forwards, elbows on the small table. James matched him, reducing the space between them and making the booth confidential, intimate. 

“So. Few years ago we had someone from the United Nations with us on secondment. Melee and martial arts expert, over to do some training. Norwegian. Big guy. Huge. Bigger than me.” Steve gestured with his hands to indicate their comparative bignesses. “Descended from royalty or something, and I would absolutely believe that, because he had such… presence.” Steve shook his head, laughing at himself. “The first time I set eyes on him I just wanted to lay at his feet.”

James found that image way too appealing - Steve lying at someone’s feet, lying at _his_ feet. He felt the heat crawling up his neck and wondered if Steve had noticed. Probably not, he was too busy rhapsodizing about this royal giant.

“I was mortified.” Steve was continuing. “‘Cause I’d always thought of myself as a normal guy, I wasn’t into anything... you know, and yet here I was, having explicit thoughts about being dominated. I made up for it by being extra aggressive in the training sessions - “

“ - as you do.” James interjected wryly.

“As you do.” Steve nodded matching wry with wry. “So many bruises. Anyway, I was less subtle about it than I’d hoped, ‘cause my buddy just kinda shoved me in his direction, told me to sort it out, because me ‘moping all over the place like a lovestruck teenager’ - that’s a direct quote by the way - was making him want to hurl!”

“Aw, what a pal.” James was laughing, because this story was quite funny, even if he wasn’t sure he liked where it was heading.

“Oh, the best, lemme tell you, but he only thought it was about the sex, he didn’t realise the, the other stuff.”

“Did he find out?”

“I told him, months afterwards. That was a conversation that needed a lot of alcohol.” Steve sipped his beer.

“And so?” James prompted. “What happened with the other guy?”

“Ah. Heh. We went out for drinks - we were friendly by that stage - and I was so determined I was going to say something. Made sure it was really obvious that I was drinking a lot, just in case there was a bad reaction and so I could laugh it off and blame it on the alcohol.”

“Smooth.”

“You know it.” Steve quirked an eyebrow. “But… I blurted out something, I don’t remember what, and he’s just sitting there looking at me. And I’m dying, as you can imagine, and then he says: _let me be sure I understand what you’re saying, Steve. You want to bare your throat to me?_ ” Steve’s eyes were wide, his pupils dilated. “And I was just… blown away by the poetry of that image.”

James was feeling the tug of arousal too. And the tug of jealousy, let’s be honest.

“You said yes?”

“I said yes.” Steve winced. “And then I waited for the fall-out, because I was sure I’d ruined our friendship, my chances of promotion, my chances of getting into heaven, you name it!” 

“... and?” 

“And he asked about my experience, which was of course zero, then agreed to take me on.”

“Generous.” James was being only a little bit snarky but Steve apparently didn’t catch it.

“He was. And the sweetest guy, too. He taught me a lot about myself.”

James, feeling generous himself, let Steve have his moment of smiling reminiscence, then:

“What happened?” 

“He finished his secondment, and his posting. Went home. Found his other half.” Steve lifted a shoulder. “We’re still in touch.”

They sipped their beers in silence.

“Have you ever tried the other way?” James asked.

“Domming?” Steve grinned. “Once. Thor again. He’s one of those people that can go either way?”

“A switch?”

“Yeah, a switch. He asked me if I’d like to flip the roles and I gave it my best shot but it was just so. Much. Nope.” He laughed. “So embarrassing, but he made it all right again by pinning me down. So yeah. You? Do you switch?”

“I did once. It didn’t go well.”

James had taken the money and run, after he’d broken three of the guy’s teeth for trying some ‘daddy’ shit on him. Rumlow, who’d arranged it, had thought it was hysterical. He’d deliberately - James was sure - indulged in a bit of miscommunication.

The upward angle of Steve’s eyebrows indicated he was ready to hear more, but he didn’t press when James didn’t say anything further. 

“That really is a great shirt.” Steve murmured.

James grinned, standing up.

“I’ll get the next round.”

He sauntered away to the bar, glancing back at Steve, and yes, his butt was definitely being ogled... 

***

“I’m not seeing him again.” James announced as he stormed past Nat. She was exiting the bathroom, a strawberry fragrant steam wafting out with her.

“Why?” She’d followed him out to the kitchen where he was, messily, because he was assuredly less than sober, getting himself a glass of water from the faucet. He gulped that down then slumped at the bench.

James’d been careful about getting not-sober while on the _date_ , dammit, with Steve, so it’d been three friendly beers before smilingly making his excuses then running for his life. He’d applied himself to getting unsober later, at a different bar close to Nat’s place.

“I like him… I don’t want to… _I like him_ … I don’t want to lead him on…”

James faltered to silence under his friend’s icy glare.He hadn’t thought it was possible for anyone to look dangerous in pastel blue flannel pyjamas with a cow print, but Nat managed. 

“You don’t want to what, James?” 

“Lead him on?” 

She hadn’t moved but it fucking felt like she was advancing on him. 

“Lead him on?” Nat echoed. “Explain.”

James swallowed: he knew she knew what he was talking about, but she was going to make him say it.

“There is a chance I could… develop... feelings for him.” 

“Yes…?”

“And I don’t want to.”

“Because…?”

“If I, if I met someone else… it would hurt.”

She didn’t explode at him, instead, Nat gave him a brief look of deep sympathy before returning to a more neutral expression. 

“Hurt him or you?”

“Him. If he liked me, that way, too.”

She poured him another glass of water and handed it over.

“James, I have listened to you whine about soulbonds for a long time: how archaic and limiting they are, how you don’t want one, how you’d rather die than bond.” She looked him square in the eyes. “Here is a man you like - perfect, you said, perfect - that you cannot possibly bond with, and that is still not all right because, my god, you bleed hope. You are still waiting, still keeping yourself, your heart, for your other half and yet you are terrified that could happen.” 

“Well, when you put it like that.” James tried for his default ‘banter’, only to fail and sound small and miserable.

“I am putting it like that.” Nat said. “There are many different types of relationships, yes? A soulbond isn’t the only one that’s worth anything. Let yourself have this. Let him have this.” 

“But if we got into a relationship - “ James whispered. “And I walked away…”

Nat put her hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently.

“Then you will be kind to him, and yourself, because you are not an asshole, James.”

“You sure about that?” 

“Despite your best efforts to convince me otherwise, yes, I am sure.” She shrugged. “If you doubt me you only have to compare yourself with Rumlow.”

She had a point.

“All right.” James sighed. “I won’t… dismiss the idea - “

His phone rang. It was Steve. James shot Nat a panicked look.

“Answer it, asshole.”

He did, glaring daggers at his ‘friend’.

“Hey, Steve, how’s it going? Long time no, um, see. Hear? Whatever.”

Steve’s laugh was deep and rich, and giving him tingles all the way down his spine. For fuck’s sake.

“Hope it’s not too late to call.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “The thing is - “

James braced himself.

“ - I had a great time tonight and was wondering if you’d like to come to my place for dinner sometime?”

“You cook?” James pulled a face at himself; that was the best he could come up with? He was never drinking again.

“I do, yes. It’s a handy survival skill.” Steve was laughing at him, James was sure. “So…?”

“Er, yeah, okay. When? Wait! Are you just trying to get free sessions?” James smirked: yeah, baby, his banter-mojo was back. Or he was possibly drunker than he thought. 

“Ah, you got me there. Military pay is not that good, gotta make concessions where I can, right?” Steve bantered right back. James’ spine tingles intensified. “I’m free tomorrow night if you wanna discuss this.” 

“Sure.”

“I’ll text you time and address. See you later. Bye!”

James was left staring at his phone. He glanced up at Nat, who was radiating smugness.

“Oh shut up.”

She laughed, not unkindly.

***

James had no clue what sort of money someone like Steve would realistically make, but he lived in a nice area a little way out of town. The trees here were tall and healthy. There was no dog shit. The townhouses weren’t super fancy, particularly old or particularly new, but they looked maintained.

Steve’s place was a narrow three-stories, four if you included the basement that James could see by looking over the stair rails. What was down there? It had a separate door. Was it sublet? 

“Hi!” Steve was still cooking, if the practical blue apron he was wearing was any indication.

“Sorry, am I early?” James asked. 

“Nah, I’m running late. Come in.” Steve sniffed the air. “Oops.”

He dashed off, presumably, to the kitchen, leaving James to follow in his wake. The hallway was narrow and painted white, contrasting nicely with the polished floorboards. There was no ornamentation, nothing that could be knocked over. The door to the room immediately on the right was open and James glimpsed gym equipment in there. He passed the stairs and went into the obviously remodelled kitchen/dining. There was a small lounge area, underneath the stairs, with a long, comfy looking, chocolate coloured couch in front of a huge flat screen TV. The surrounding electronics oozed expense.

“Nice.”

The back wall of the area was entirely glass, looking out onto a tiny, gorgeous little courtyard, surrounded by tall fences.

“It’s good, isn’t it?” Steve was industriously stirring something on the stove, something cheesy and herby. “Beers are in the fridge. Could you get me one, too, please?”

Some said you could tell a lot about a person by what was in their fridge. Steve’s was mostly empty, except for a couple of six-packs of beer, an unopened carton of long-life milk (extra protein!), and a lone onion on the bottom shelf. The contents of this fridge was telling James its owner was hardly ever here.

James detached a pair of bottles from their cardboard packaging.

“Opener?”

“Fridge door.”

There was more information about Steve here, but not much: a fridge magnet with some sort of bird on it and ‘Nantucket’ in a sea-sidey sort of blue above that; a few candid photos featuring a good-looking black man with close-cropped hair, a good-looking white woman with long, wavy dark brown hair, and… oh, a very good-looking white man, with short blond hair and eyes so intensely blue they stood out even through the crap quality of the image. Was that the royal giant? James had a sinking feeling it was.

“Thanks.” Steve smiled when James put the bottle down on the bench next to him. 

“Can I help with anything?”

“No, it’s all under control. You can just stand there looking pretty.” Steve flashed him a grin.

James leaned back against the sink.

“That, I can do.” He took a sip of his beer and let his eyes linger on the sweat popping out at Steve’s hairline. “What are we having?”

“Mac and cheese. The fancy version.” Steve smiled. “An old family recipe.”

He combined the contents of two saucepans in one baking dish, grated a large amount of cheese on the top - three different types.

“... and into the oven - “ Steve said in the chirpy tone of a TV cook, “ - on medium, for about twenty minutes or until the topping is golden brown.” 

“You didn’t prepare one earlier?”

“With the amount of time this takes? You’re joking.”

They took their beers out to the courtyard.

“This is your place?” James asked.

Steve nodded. 

“An inheritance. A work in progress. I like it. When I don’t have to be anywhere else, I come here. I’ll give you a tour later.”

“You here often?”

Steve made a noncommittal noise.

“Not regularly. My schedule isn’t predictable. Speaking of which.” His smile was apologetic. “I should be good for tonight, but there’s always a chance I can be called in.”

“Noted. I’ll just eat all the mac and cheese if you are.”

“Leave the dishes to soak and let yourself out when you’re done, thanks.”

They were grinning at each other again.

 

“This is really good.” James said through a mouthful of delicious. “You cook from scratch?”

He’d noticed the remnants of fresh ingredients on the bench, the empty packet of pasta.

“When I can.” Steve looked pleased. “Though I confess this is one of the few things I can cook to a consistent standard. I’m better with barbecues.”

There’d been a big, covered barbecue in the courtyard. James put two and two together.

“I make a mean potato salad. Perhaps we should combine our talents one day.”

“Do you put the ham in, or leave it out?” Steve was stern. “That’s a deal breaker.”

“Oh, in, definitely.” James tried for stern, too, but was probably twinkling instead. “You can’t leave the ham out.”

“Hear hear!” Steve raised his bottle in salute. “The ham has gotta be in…”

 

“I do have something I want to ask you.” Steve said, sometime later, after they’d finished off what was in the baking dish and moved on to a rich, chocolate ice-cream and a sharp sort of runny berry sauce.

“Mmm?” James was too busy licking his spoon to talk. 

“This… is a little awkward, seeing as we started off as a business arrangement, but.” Steve took a breath. “I like you, James, and I would really like to see you. Outside of the… business arrangement. We can still keep that up, if you like, the financial side, I mean.” He closed his eyes. “Oh god.”

James blinked.

“You want to date?”

“... yes.”

James leaned back and considered the man in front of him, the clearly embarrassed but plucky - brave - man in front of him. 

“If we dated, would you be interested in incorporating the lifestyle?”

James waited, first to see if Steve understood what he was saying, and second, to see what the response was.

“... yes.” Steve licked his lips. “I would like that very much.”

James was going to quip again about ‘free sessions’ but there was a vulnerability around Steve that made him rethink a jokey approach. He wanted, James realised, to look after him. _Shit_. 

“I need to think about it.” He said.

“Of course.” Steve’s hands were open, expansive, then they closed, his fingers folding in on themselves. “I have to ask though, the no-touching…?”  
James flinched, recovered.

“That’s one of the things I need to think about.” 

“Oh. Right.” Steve’s voice was soft. “I don’t wanna cause you any problems.” 

“I’m sorry I can’t be more straight forward.” James said, equally soft.

“Eh.” Steve shrugged, smiling again. “Better to negotiate than assume. There is one other thing though.” James quirked an eyebrow. “I would like you to fuck me. If that’s all right.”

James’ smile broadened.

“How do you feel about reciprocating?”

Steve’s eyes went very wide.

“You’d… yes. Please. You may have to cuff me ‘cause I don’t think I could keep my hands to myself.”

James burst out laughing.

“I’ll bear that in mind…”

***

James took a taxi part-way home, until he was in more familiar territory, then got out to walk. He always thought better when he was moving, and Steve’s question about the no-touching had thrown him. 

Other than his sisters, James had never been in a close relationship. Well, Nat was the other exception, and they’d only got close after establishing, completely consensually, that they weren’t a match. James’ relief at that had been near euphoric: he really liked Nat and hadn’t wanted a soulbond to fuck up their friendship. 

Everyone else, though, he routinely kept well outta range, if not physically, then absolutely emotionally.

He’d let himself touch Steve. Could he let Steve touch him?

Ah, yeah, there was the cold sweat, the clammy palms: James wiped his hands on his jeans. Nat was right, there was no way he could bond with Steve, so he shouldn’t have to worry about being touched, should he? And yet… This aversion had been seeded a long time ago, watching his parents interact, listening to the venom they slung at each other, _being bonded was a living death, hell on earth, no escape_. You found your soulmate by _touch_.

He thought he’d managed to overcome some of that aversion over the years, but in reality it’d just been a series of compromises. The underlying fear was still there. 

James stopped and looked around - he’d been largely walking without conscious direction - and almost laughed. A block away, around a corner, was a shop he hadn’t visited for months. It’d still be open, despite the late hour. Looks like his subconscious at least, knew what it was doing.

“Slim Jim, my man!” 

Rafi was Puerto Rican, bald, a bear, round and hairy. He’d been in the scene for years, an establishment way before a baby James had poked his nose in.

“Hey, Rafi.” James half-smiled.

“Long time no see. You comin’ home?”

Tonight he was wearing a black leather kilt, biker boots. A black t-shirt stretched across his belly: the sleeves had been roughly cut away, and hand-painted across the front in white were the words ‘straight passing’. 

“You know those movies where the spy/gunman/assassin comes outta retirement for one last job?”

Rafi shrugged broad shoulders. On his right shoulder blade was a tattoo of a cartoonish cigar. James knew this because he’d inked it for him; he was still quite proud of how the smoke had turned out. 

“You don’t retire, man, you merely go on sabbatical.”

“Maybe.” James smiled. “Life is a mystery.” 

He wandered past the frothy display stuff at the front of the shop, heading towards the more serious section at the back.

“You need help with anything?” Rafi asked.

“Nah, just browsing, thanks.”

James breathed in the familiar smells - new leather, rubber, metal - and relaxed. Rafi might have a point.

Unsurprisingly, James went straight to the rack of collars. He grinned at a bright pink number, picking it up, testing the softness of the leather. It was dotted with rhinestones and not very strong, obviously only meant for show. All it was missing was a dog tag inscribed with ‘Princess’. He’d love to see Steve’s face if he presented him with that though. James put it back and kept looking. He was after a beginner’s collar, nothing too heavy, but it had to have a certain amount of durability. 

The pink had been the first thing that caught his eye but he’d then skipped over the rest of the coloured collars straight to his usual blacks and browns. He looked over the display, frowning when nothing leapt out at him. On a hunch James went back to the colours: he’d never bought a collar specifically for one person, previous purchases had tended to be generic, meant for those clients who didn’t supply their own gear. 

There. A darkish mid-blue. Solid but not stiff, with a well-anchored bright steel ring at the front. James ignored the tremor in his fingers as he lifted the collar off the display. It should fit.

Clutching it like a talisman, James turned to leave when he spotted a pair of cuffs in the same blue. James picked those up as well.

Rafi took his time ringing up James’ purchase.

“Not your usual colour range, hm? Special boy?”

James gave him a look, then changed the subject. 

“How’s Bernie?”

Rafi’s wide, laughing mouth immediately contracted to a hard line.

“We do not mention that name.”

“We don’t? What’s he done now?”

James didn’t understand Puerto Rican but going by the tone, Rafi and his ex-pat Englishman were in the off phase of their on again off again relationship. When he’d first met them it’d taken James some time to get his head around the fact that they weren’t bonded. He’d grown up with the firm belief that a soulbond with The One was the only legitimate relationship. Everything else - outside of the ‘pseudo-bonds’ of friends and family - was meaningless, not worth the energy, and yet these two had been together for years. 

That’s when it’d begun to dawn on James just how sheltered he’d been, how limited his experiences. His parents had kept him and his sisters isolated in a airless, toxic bubble.

“Jimmy Jim!” Rafi was leaning forward over the counter. “We should see if we match, yeah?”

James shook his head but he was smiling.

“We’ve already done that, remember? Long time ago.”

Rafi frowned for a second, then his lovely brown eyes went wide.

“Oh we did!” He guffawed. “We were _so_ wasted!”

Rafi and Bernie had had another fight and Rafi was consoling himself with shots of tequila at the club. James had joined him and they’d got totally smashed, smashed enough to dare each other to go find a quiet back room and touch their ‘marks. James had been pretty sure they wouldn’t match, though there was still a chance that they would, but he’d been drunk and feeling reckless enough to risk it.

“So.” Rafi handed James his bag of goodies. “You should bring your special boy to the club.”

James hesitated: the thought of Steve at his side, collared in a clear declaration of ownership…

Rafi was smirking at him.

“See ya.” James lifted a hand in farewell then, cheeks flaming, left the shop and headed home. 

***

The apartment was quiet when he got in so Nat was either asleep or out.

Not just out, as it happened, but away for a couple of days, according to the note she’d left him. James was a little relieved, a little put out because while he kinda would’ve liked to share with her what was going on, he was pretty sure there would’ve been some mocking. 

He had a shower and got ready for bed, shaking out the quilt over the couch, grabbing his pillows from the ottoman, prowling around turning all the lights off. It was only once he’d got himself comfortable that he gave any thought to what he was going to do now. The leather of Steve’s collar was smooth under his fingers, and - he brought it up to his nose - it smelt good. How much better would it smell once it was imbued with Steve’s scent? 

He checked his phone: it really was too late to call him now, but he didn’t want to leave it too long either. Tomorrow then, he’d call Steve tomorrow. James put the collar back in the bag with the cuffs then stuffed the whole lot under his pillow.

***

The next morning he opened up the studio around 10. They didn’t have any appointments on the books - he double-checked both his and Nat’s diaries - but there was still admin to be done, and they might get a walk-in, that wasn’t unusual. He decided that if there was no movement by 2pm he’d shut up shop for the day. And then ring Steve.

The accounts were all up to date; supplies had been checked and new stuff ordered; everything was clean and tidy. One person had sidled in, a girl that James was pretty sure was underage, to ask about prices. They’d chatted about cost, he’d shown her examples of the sort of work they did. She was very enthusiastic about some of Nat’s flowers. She’s been startled when James had asked her when she was turning eighteen and he could see on her face she was going to try and lie her way through this. But then she didn’t, her shoulders slumping as her expression cleared.

“I have to be eighteen?”

“Sorry, yes. Otherwise we need parental permission. How long have you been thinking about this?”

“Not long.”

“So now you know what it’s going to cost, and you can have a good think about what you really want.”

She sighed.

“I guess.”

James handed her a business card.

“Our website’s on that, and a link to a network of reputable tattooists. Have a look at what’s being done. There is some _amazing_ shit out there.”

The girl giggled and tucked the card away in her handbag.

“Thanks for talking to me.”

“You’re welcome.” James turned the full force of his - he’d been told - charming smile on her. She waved shyly and left the shop. James checked his phone: 1.30pm. Close enough.

He decided to text instead of call.

: _hi, steve :)_

_: hi! how r u?_

_: good can I see u tonight?_

_: shld be home_

_: same time?_

_: yep will I need alcohol to soothe my bruised ego_

_: not going to be your ego that’s bruised sweetheart ;)_

The next message was empty, followed shortly by:

: _sry dropped phone :D c u later_

***

“Big date?”

“Hm?” 

“I said ‘big date’?”

The cab driver’s weathered skin was wrinkling at the corners of his eyes. James assumed it was because he was smiling, but the eyes were all he could see of the guy’s face in the rear view mirror.

“Sort of.” 

“You know how I can tell?” His eyes almost wrinkled shut now. How was that safe to drive? “I can feel your leg twitchin’ through the seat!”

James gave him a wintry grimace that was meant to approximate a smile. He did concentrate on stopping his leg from jerking though.

“Can I give you some advice?" _No_. “Don’t drink too much. There’s a strong correlation between alcohol consumed and how much of a dick you are.”

James couldn’t help his snort of amusement.

“Thanks. I’ll remember that.” 

“I have seeeeeeen it all, man, lemme tell you.” _Please don’t_. The driver shook his head but thankfully didn’t seem to be making good on his threat. He continued to stay silent for the rest of the trip, leaving James to his thoughts and his twitching leg... 

“Keep the change.” James handed over a fistful of cash - he was gonna have to investigate public transport out this way if he didn’t want to bankrupt himself getting cabs all the time. 

“Good luck.” The cabbie winked at him. 

 

“Hi.”

Steve had opened the door, like, a second after James had rang the bell, and that was wholly gratifying, thinking - knowing - he’d been watching for him. But then James had to stare at him stupidly for another couple of seconds because, my god, he was gorgeous. 

“Hey.” James said at last.

“Come in.” Steve moved back from the doorway. “Coffee?”

“Sure. Thanks. Black and two.”

He followed Steve along the hallway, admiring the breadth of his shoulders. There was a ring of moisture at the neck of his t-shirt, like he’d just showered and hadn’t dried his hair properly. Steve in his barefeet moved almost silently and James wondered if he should take his boots off. 

There was undeniable tension between them as his host moved economically around the kitchen, pulling a pack of paper filters out of a cupboard, a container of coffee out of the freezer. Steve did everything economically, James realised, no wasted effort, nothing superfluous. 

The coffee maker was gurgling quietly to itself, the rich scent filling the room. Steve took a deep breath then turned around to face James. He was trying not to look apprehensive but it was there in the set of his shoulders.

“So, I’ve thought about your proposal.” 

James watched Steve stiffen and any idea he’d had about stringing this out and teasing him was instantly banished to the darkest, remotest corner of his mind. All right then. He slid his hand under the flap of his messenger bag, wrapped a couple of fingers around the collar and hooked it out. Steve looked very young at that moment.

“This is new.” James said. “It’s never been worn by anyone else.” He held it out to Steve, who licked his lips but otherwise didn’t move.

“It’s… it’s for me?”

“If you want it.” James confirmed. 

“I do.” Steve’s voice was very quiet. He vaguely indicated his neck. “Would you mind…?”

James grinned and prowled forward.

“Drop your head for me, sweetheart.” He murmured, thrilled when Steve complied without hesitation. Not only that, but he’d put his hands behind his back without being prompted. James swore to himself he was never going to take this for granted.

He fastened the collar around Steve’s neck - he was trembling - then with the tips of two fingers under his chin, encouraged Steve to lift his head and look at him.

“You can wear this whenever you want, or not, the choice is yours. I’m not making any demands on you about it.”

Steve licked his lips again.

“I want to wear it when I’m with you. In private.”

“Okay then.” James gave him a small, warm smile. “We’ll sort it out as we go. The no-touching thing is still in force. ” He took in Steve’s suppressed disappointment. “It’s something I have to work through, I’m sorry.”

“Let me help? Anyway I can.”

James nodded, focusing on Steve’s lips. He dropped his hand from Steve’s face but didn’t step back even though his first instinct was to get out of reach.

“Will you be able to touch me?” Steve asked. “More than you have already, I mean?”

James slapped a mask of bravado over his uncertainty. 

“Going to have to if ‘m gonna fuck you properly, right?” he drawled.

Steve was flushed now, his breathing rapidly accelerating. He looked like he was on the point of being overwhelmed. 

“Let’s sit down.”

James led the way to the couch. He sat right at the end then patted the cushion beside him.

“Come on. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

Steve sat, carefully, at his side.

“Do you need to lie down?” James asked.

Steve nodded, not saying anything, not looking at him, then curled himself up on his side. He hesitated before bringing his head down to rest on James’ thigh. 

“Is this all right?” He whispered.

“That’s fine.” James rubbed the crest of Steve’s shoulder with the palm of his hand. “Just breathe now. It’s all good.”

Steve tucked his hands beneath his chin and slowly began to relax, as did James. That direct contact had been as initially unsettling as it ever was. Now though? There was an odd kind of comfort in the weight and warmth on his leg. 

“Do I call you ‘sir’?” Steve sounded muffled: he was fiddling with his collar, James realised.

“How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know.” There was a dry chuckle. “I call so many people ‘sir’ already I don’t want to associate that with… this.”

“Then we won’t do that. Fuck knows I’d hate for you to get an erection in the course of your normal duties.”

And that noise was suspiciously close to a giggle. 

They lapsed into silence,though not exactly a comfortable one. Steve relaxed a little more but that there was still a deal of tension in his body, the occasional fine tremor, like a shiver.

“Are you hungry?” James asked.

“Yeah.” Steve confessed with a laugh. “I haven’t been able to eat much today.”

“What’s good around here that delivers...?”

 

Steve had peeled himself away from James to go find the menus. He sat back down, angled to face him with just the tip of his knee making contact with James’ thigh.  
It was not dissimilar, James realised, to acclimatising an animal to your presence. A little touch here and there, unthreatening but consistent, so they’d get used to you.

“What?” Steve quirked an eyebrow when James huffed a laugh. “My pronunciation’s funny? Korean’s not a language I’ve made much of a study of.” 

“You’re doin’ better than I would.” James placed his hand very lightly, very deliberately down on Steve’s knee. He didn’t miss the pleased smile that flickered over Steve’s lips before he put his head back down to continue perusing the choices. 

They had their coffees while waiting for the delivery. Steve sat at the other end of the couch, long legs stretched out along the cushions, his feet up on James’ thigh. There was a faint scar on the top of his left foot. James made a mental note to ask about that some time. 

“I’m not ticklish.” Steve said when James brushed the tips of his fingers along the arch of a foot. “In case you were wondering.”

“Darn.” James smirked. “There goes the feather torture.”

Steve smiled, but it was uncertain.

“Have you done that before? Torture?” He stumbled on the word. “Pain?”

“Only when someone’s asked me specifically for it.” James shrugged. “I don’t enjoy dishing it out.”

Steve was bracing himself to say something, James could see. He waited. 

“I would never try to interfere with your work.” Steve said carefully, and somewhat cryptically, to James’ mind. His work? The tattooing or the warehousing? “I won’t confuse that with this.”

Oh! Of course...

“I haven’t dommed professionally, or at all, for almost a year.” James shrugged. “Never intended to go back to it. You were a special circumstance.” 

“I’m glad you did.” Steve was frank. “But your guy - “

“That guy was just looking for some easy money. If he ever offers me another job again I’m not gonna take it.” He let his gaze linger on Steve’s lips, then move slowly down his chest to his groin. “No matter how tempting he makes it sound.”

The doorbell rang.

Steve went to get up but James stopped him.

“I’ll get this. You cooked last time.” He said, over Steve’s protest. “Besides, I’d like to keep that collar just between you and me.”

He winked as the blond’s eyes went wide and he automatically reached for the leather.

 

“Open up.”

Steve’s expression was a curious mixture of eagerness and chagrin, but his eyes were bright. He was kneeling in front of James, as requested, hands behind his back, obediently opening his mouth for the piece of crispy fried chicken being offered to him on chopsticks.

“Are your knees all right?” James asked, satisfied with Steve’s nod. “Remember, you don’t have to do anything I say. If you don’t wanna do something all you gotta do is say no. Understand?”

Another nod. Another piece of chicken popped on his tongue.

“Can I have some rice?” Steve said when he’d swallowed his mouthful.

They laughed together as rice grains went everywhere. 

“Might need a fork.” James mused. “I’ll clean that up in a bit.” He raised an eyebrow at Steve’s expression. “You can do it if you want, but you’re not my slave and I made the mess so…”

“I’m not your slave?”

“Unless you wanna be. That’s a very specific dynamic.”

Steve was watching him with a slight frown.

“You don’t want that.”

“I don’t get a kick out of subjugation.”

“So what are we then?”

“Equal.” James grinned. “But I’m in charge.” He forestalled Steve’s next words with a piece of water chestnut. “Everything is negotiable.”

He was beginning to wonder though, about Steve’s previous experiences as a sub.

 

They finished the meal, and James, true to his word, cleaned up after himself. Steve got them another coffee each, but he set his aside once James had sat back down.  
He knelt in front of him again, made sure he had James’ attention then very deliberately looked down at James’ crotch.

“May I?”

“Sure.” James heart gave a thump. He spread his knees, wider than was technically comfortable, to fit Steve’s shoulders.

Steve leant forward, beautifully balanced, and nuzzled at the zip of James’ jeans, his breath hot and warm through the thick fabric. He closed his eyes as he rubbed his cheek over the growing bulge, opened them again to give James a cheeky, knowing look through his eyelashes. 

“You’re gonna have to help me with this.” Steve said. “These are too tight for me to get open without using my hands.”

James stared at him.

“I’d like to practice.” Steve continued, his matter-of-factness belied by the high colour in his cheeks. “Could be fun, but right now I want your dick in my mouth.”

James laughed, a little breathlessly.

“You’re gonna be a handful, aren’t you?”

“Darn tootin’.” 

Steve watched eagerly, lips parted, as James unzipped, then reached into his underwear. He pulled out his dick, giving it a few easy strokes before tugging the soft cotton of his briefs down enough to sit under his balls, anchored so it wasn’t going to ride back up and get in the way. He was showing the bare minimum of skin.

“This what you want?” James smirked.

Steve nodded, licked his lips, then got to it.

It’d been a while for James, admittedly, since he’d had someone getting him off, but not so long he didn’t appreciate when he was on the receiving end of a skilled blow job. Steve wasn’t trying to finish it as quickly as possible, he was exploring… playing, but he didn’t appreciate being teased.

After the third time James had flexed his pelvic muscles in a particular fashion that had his dick bouncing away from Steve to slap against his cheek or nose, the blond huffed then lunged, his head tilted sideways to firmly grab the shaft in his teeth. The sudden movement, not to mention the threat to a tender area, made James yelp, then freeze. 

“All right, all right, I won’t do that again!”

The pressure around his dick increased ever so slightly, enough he could feel the indent of individual teeth. 

“I’m sorry. I won’t do that again.” 

Steve only grunted his acceptance of James’ apology - he had his mouth full after all - then got back to work. The tone of the exercise had changed now: no more playing, he had a mission.

James was dimly unsure of how it was going to end. In Steve’s mouth? Across his face? He was holding Steve in place, sort of, by gripping at the slightly longer hair on his crown but not so tight that Steve couldn’t break away to direct the inevitable wherever he wanted. 

His mouth? All right then…

James swore as he came, hunching forward so he was close enough to Steve’s head to smell the lingering scent of his shampoo. His fingers were digging in to Steve’s scalp, and he wanted to push forwards, to sink deeper into the heat and warmth. Self-control won out and he did no such thing, keeping still as Steve held him in his mouth until he was finished. 

Steve sat back, flushed and tousled, looking very pleased with himself. There was a slight spill of semen at the corner of his mouth that James would’ve reached over to wipe away with a finger, if he’d had bones to move.

“That was.” James croaked. “Fucking amazing - “

The phone rang. Steve’s phone.

“I’ve got to get that.” Steve grimaced. He pushed himself to his feet, reaching into his back pocket as he stepped away from James.

“Rogers… uh huh… twenty minutes.” He sighed, then squared his shoulders and turned back to James. “So that was work.”

“Wow, your hours suck.” James tried for a smirk, wasn’t sure his muscles were solid enough yet to play along. “And your pay’s shit? I hope you’ve at least got dental.”

“The dental is excellent.” Steve grinned, then sighed again. “I’m sorry.”

“You did warn me this could happen.” James stood and tucked himself back in. He looked down at the bulge in Steve’s pants. “Can I help you with that?”

Steve laughed, a little embarrassed.

“No time, sorry, but if you could…” He lowered his head and pointed to the collar. It gave James a complicated sort of feeling in his chest.  
“Sure.” 

He handed the collar back, their fingers didn’t brush.

“I don’t know how long this is going to take.” Steve said.

“Call me when you get back.” 

“I will.”

Now they were just looking at each other.

“C’mere.” James stepped into Steve’s personal space - Steve’s hands immediately went behind his back. James used the tips of two fingers again, under his chin, and drew him close enough to brush a kiss over his lips. No other part of their bodies touching.

“Don’t do anything dumb.” He murmured.

***

It was only two weeks this time before James heard from Steve.

“Hey, how are you?” 

It was a loaded question of course, but when Steve responded it was to the question James was really asking. 

“Good, actually. Wasn’t so… difficult this time. Are you busy?”

“I’m at work but I’m not needed.” 

James put his hand over the receiver and mouthed ‘ _don’t need me_ ’ at Nat. She arched an eyebrow then waved him off.

“Great! Like to go for coffee? I’ll pick you up…”

James gave him the address then bolted upstairs to stuff a couple of things in his bag. He was back downstairs in plenty of time to look unruffled when Steve came through the door.

Steve grinned at him, lifting a hand in greeting. He looked good enough to do all sorts of things to, not just eat. Nat, who’d been out the back in the studio, sashayed out to the front.

“Hi.” She said. “You must be Steve.”

“Nat. Steve.” James introduced them. “Steve. Nat.”

“Hello.” There was the tiniest of frowns creasing Steve’s eyebrows as he looked at Nat. “Have we met before?”

Nat gave him a quick, sultry once over, then that flirty little head toss she did so well.

“Oh, I think I’d remember that.”

Cute response, but it didn’t answer the question. 

“Huh. Well, nice to meet you now.” Steve turned back to James. “Ready to go?”

James followed Steve out to a biggish, mid-grey hatchback something.

“That is the definition of a nondescript car.”

“Work vehicle.”

“Figures.”

James relaxed back into the leather passenger seat: it was fucking comfortable though. He couldn’t resist playing with the window controls. _Down a bit and up a bit and down a bit._

“Know any good cafes around here?” Steve had settled himself behind the steering wheel and was now giving James an indulgent smile. 

“Down that way.” James pointed. “For three blocks then left.”

_Up a bit and down a bit..._

Steve ate a lot. Like, a lot. 

“Bit peckish there, champ?” James had commented after Steve had given his order.

“Yep. Not helped by the fact that most of what I’ve been eating for the past ten days qualified as ‘nutritious’, but that was all.”

“I thought army rations weren’t that bad?”

Steve quirked an eyebrow.

“There are army rations, and then there are army rations.” 

James watched Steve enjoy his food, which led to more fantasies of feeding him. He surreptitiously reached down beneath to the table and adjusted his crotch. Steve’s blue eyes were amused.

“You’re really all right?” James lowered his voice.

“I am.” Steve’s smile was pure fucking sunshine. “Wanna know why? Because I knew I had the means to... destress from command properly back at home, if I needed it. Kept me grounded.”

“I am happy to be of service.” James said lightly as he raised his half-empty cup of coffee in salute.

“As am I.” 

James swallowed: add ‘eye-fucking’ to the list of Steve’s skills. His cup clanked as he set it back down on the table.

“Let’s go to your place.” He pushed his empty plate aside. “I didn’t get that tour you promised.”

 

Steve pulled the invisible car up to the curb three houses away from his own.

“No off-street parking?” James asked.

“Area was established before everyone had a car, apparently.” Steve replied. 

“What’s down there?” James was looking over the railing at the front of Steve’s place.

“Basement flat. Someone used to live there, I think. Want to check it out...?”

 

It was tiny, smaller even than his studio apartment. The patchy, fragile lace curtains, along with the grime on the street-level windows, filtered the afternoon light down to an approximate dusk. James sneezed twice: the room was almost empty but very dusty. 

“Other side of that - “ Steve explained, pointing at the back wall. “ - is the basement of the main house.”

“Totally separate?”

“The original plans say so.”

A definitely old-fashioned toilet was just visible in a corner, squatting behind an ancient, grubby screen. There was a sink next to it, but the pipes were so old, it looked like they’d crumble away from the wall the moment you tried to run water through them. There was no facility for washing, and the wiring was probably substandard, if it worked at all.

“You like it?” Steve was curious.

“I… do.” James wrinkled his nose. “Dunno why, but I do.” 

He could imagine himself here. He hadn’t had a room of his own since he’d shot through from his family. The studio apartment didn’t count because he kept nothing there, it was more of a work space than a retreat.

“If I need a tenant I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks.” James grinned at him.

 

“I think this room would’ve traditionally been the parlour.” 

They were standing in the first room along the ground floor hallway. It was, as James had noticed on his first visit, a home gym, well furnished with the sort of stuff you’d expect to find there, including a space-age treadmill. 

“Don’t use that much.” Steve said, when he noticed James’ interest. “I prefer to go for runs in the streets. There’s a couple of nice parks close by too.”

The kitchen James was already familiar with, so Steve took them up the stairs to the first floor. 

“Three bedrooms up here - well, one is more like a box room, but you could put a bed in there at a pinch.” 

The largest of the rooms had a double bed and a wardrobe. It was the only one of the bedrooms to have any sort of furniture. 

“Very low down on the list for attention.” Steve had said when James asked. “But at least I have a spare room for visitors.”

The bathroom wasn’t very large, but it was functional, with a couple of cursory towels hanging over the rail. 

There was natural light in the bigger rooms at either end of the corridor, but none in the bathroom and boxroom. 

The next set of stairs led straight into a large, airy room. No doorway between this and the rest of the house, you just walked straight into the space.

“The master bedroom.” Steve swept his hand out in a grand gesture.

“Yeah ‘cause why go up just one flight of stairs when you can go up two?” 

“Good for the thighs.” Steve laughed. He looked around, clearly happy. “This was the first part I had remodelled.” 

“It’s really nice.” James wandered past the king bed to the far wall, which, like the kitchen, was mostly glass. The sliding door opened up to a small balcony, just big enough for a couple of chairs. James, outside in the courtyard last time, had looked up and noted it. 

He scrutinised the bed, the solid frame, then smirked at Steve. 

“Planning ahead?”

“Absolutely.”

Steve’s colour was high again. He dragged his eyes away from James’ and walked to the other end of the room.

“Walk in wardrobe…” 

Past that, just down the small thoroughfare, was an en-suite bathroom, featuring a very large shower.

“Nice.” James grinned at him.

“Big enough for two.” Steve said with a soft smile. 

“Water pressure’s good?”

“It’s fantastic.” Steve pointed to the other end of the floor. “Through here’s the sitting room. Or study. Haven’t decided.”

It was a smaller, though equally bright space, again with no door and currently empty of furniture. There was a lovely view of the street from up here. 

“But wait, there’s more.” Steve grinned, picking up a hooked pole that had been leaning against the wall. He used it to snag a metal ring in a ceiling trap door. A set of stairs unfolded with a clatter.

James waited for Steve to go first; not just because of the superb view of a superb ass, but because he wasn’t convinced the ladder would take both their weights.

The attic was dark, and dusty. James sneezed again, hard. The only light was from the small dormer window. It didn’t illuminate very far, but James got the impression of boxes going back all the way in the dim dark. The attic ran the length of the house uninterrupted, it seemed.

“Keep to the joists.” Steve advised. “I can’t guarantee the strength of the ceiling.”

“Is there electricity up here?”

James hadn’t moved away from the weak light from the window.

“Yep, and lights. But they need new bulbs. Haven’t got around to that yet.” Steve put his hands on his hips and looked around. “I have no idea what’s up here. One of the projects planned is to clear it out, set down some insulation and flooring. Turn it into proper storage. It could be really useful.”

“Can you get up on to the roof?”

“There’s a hatch down there about half-way along, but I haven’t been able to get it open.”

“You said this was an inheritance?” James asked, intending to forestall any idea of being asked if he wanted to go poking about in the dark. 

“Yeah, passed down from a great aunt, who I had no idea existed.” Steve was pensive. “I don’t ever remember her being mentioned, but I was the only beneficiary named in her will. There’s a photo of her in my room.”

James breathed a sigh of relief when they descended from the attic in to the brightness of Steve’s potential study.

Back in the master bedroom Steve pointed out a small, framed photo on the wall, sitting amongst a collection of what were clearly family portraits. James looked closely at the photo of Steve’s mysterious aunt. It was a studio portrait, head and shoulders. She looked youngish, her fair hair piled up on her head in a style that James pegged as WWII, though he was hardly an expert. Nat would know.

“The photo was given to me by the executor of her will.” Steve said. “There was a note with it. ‘ _So you have a face to put to the name - Nora Rogers_.”

James could see the similarities between Steve and his aunt, something about the eyes, the beaming smile, the chin.

“She looks like she’d be fun to know.” James grinned. 

“Yeah...” Steve was gazing fondly at the photo. 

James coughed deliberately, then gave the bed a glance. He looked back at Steve, watched him subtly come to attention.

“You wanna get undressed for me?”

“Can I…?” Steve pointed to the window, wide open to the view of the townhouses on the other side of the fence.

James nodded: exhibitionism had a time and place, but it wasn’t here and now.

Steve drew the plain net curtains, leaving the roll-down blinds up, letting in the light but maintaining privacy. He padded across to the bedside table and opened a drawer. James held out his hand to receive the collar.

Steve stood in front of him, head bowed and tense, but relaxing as James fastened the collar around his neck. He kept his hands behind his back.

“I’ve got something else for you.” 

James pulled the matching cuffs out of his bag, getting such a kick out of Steve’s expression.

“Fuck. Yes please.” He held out his wrists.

The cuffs could be clipped together, but for the moment James left them separate. 

“I can fasten these to your collar or the bed. Which would you prefer?”

“No.” Steve whined. “Don’t give me that kinda choice.”

“All right then.” James grinned. “I’m gonna cuff you to your bed. On your back. And then I am gonna ride you.”

Steve’s ragged, indrawn breath was like the music of the fucking angels. 

“Get undressed now…”

Once he was naked, eyes fever-bright, Steve willingly let himself be restrained, arms wide so he couldn’t move his upper body. His legs were free, though he’d spread his ankles to mirror his wrists, and was keeping them still. James mentally added a spreader bar to the shopping list. The snap hooks on the cuffs were sturdy, but not big enough to go around the bedposts. Refinements could be worked out later but for the moment regular cuffs would bridge the gap. 

And now James was in a quandary, nervous, but maintaining his cool exterior. He was hardly a virgin but… he’d never been fully naked in front of someone, not since his ‘mark had appeared. He was gonna do it now, though, because this? With Steve? Was not a business transaction. If Steve could be vulnerable in front of him, then he could do the same.

Steve wasn’t lying flat, his head and shoulders were propped up on pillows, so there was no strain on his neck, and incidentally could watch James get undressed. His eyes were huge in his face and he was drinking James in, openly, hungrily. 

Boots, socks, jeans, jocks... James left his button-up shirt ‘til last, opened, still not sure about it: he could do the job half-naked.

“Lemme see your tattoo?”

Well then. James straddled Steve’s hips, lowering himself slowly until their groins met. He took a moment to savour the wonderful warmth of Steve’s body, the press of his half-hard dick against his balls. Steve’s eyes were focused on the flaming skull.

“Let me see.”

James shrugged out of his shirt, letting it drop behind him.

“Whoa.” Steve’s gasp was reverent. “That’s amazing.”

“Nat’s work.” James was very pleased on his friend’s behalf.

“The colours are so vibrant. Will they hold?”

“May need touching up over time but yeah, they’ll hold.”

Steve’s fingers were flexing in the cuffs.

“I really wanna…”

“I know.” James soothed. “One day. I promise.”

Steve’s dick was still trapped between them. James tortured him fully erect with slow but unsubtle movements of his hips, until the rigid flesh was hot and almost painfully hard between his thighs. James reached over for his bag, pulling out condoms and lube then set about preparing himself.

“Can I watch?” Steve asked, breathless.

Unnerved but still playing cool, James flipped himself around until his back was to Steve’s appreciative view. He fingered himself quite frequently, but never before with an audience. He looked back over his shoulder to Steve’s reddened face, his straining arms.

The four fingers, spread, burned at the edge of painful, but he could probably take Steve now without too much fuss. 

“Ready?”

“Face me? Please?” The desperation in Steve’s voice was gratifying.

Not giving himself time to be embarrassed James turned around again then, pausing just long enough to not quite fumble the condom on to Steve, positioned himself for the slow slide down Steve’s dick. 

“Lie still.”

Steve did as asked, sublimating the need to move into heartfelt profanities and strangled grunts. He was open-mouthed and panting by the time James had finally worked the full length of him inside. James wasn’t much better, circling his hips, absolutely fucking loving the feel of being so full. Oh yeah, Steve’s dick in his ass was not going to be a rarity. 

James’ gripped the top of the head rail, close to Steve’s hands. The strong, blunt-tipped fingers reached for him and James shifted his grip enough they could just about touch. It felt dangerous.

There was something worshipful in Steve’s expression as James rode him, something open and defenceless. James knew then that he could hurt this man very badly. The thought was sickening enough it threatened to derail him but then Steve gasped his name, twice, his whole body clenching up as he came and nothing else mattered.

James eased him through the aftershocks, barely moving himself until the spasmodic shuddering had almost stopped. Steve quietened beneath him and internally, James could feel him softening. He clenched his ass around Steve’s dick, eliciting an odd squeak and a twitch. 

Steve stuttered a laugh, eyeing James’ still fully armed and operational erection. 

“You gonna discharge that thing anytime soon?”

James grinned lopsidedly.

“You sassin’ me, soldier?”

“Only if it means you don’t come on my face.”

James’ grin shifted from lopsided to downright evil as he wrapped his fingers around himself.

“Any more lip from you and I’ll take myself away and come where you can’t even see me.”

Steve looked so genuinely tragic at the prospect James could only laugh and relent.

“All right then, sweetheart.” He began stroking. “Let’s see if I can reach your face from here…”

 

It was getting late and James was sleepy. After misjudging the angle of his ejaculation, so his come had fallen short of his target, landing at the top of Steve’s chest, he’d uncuffed the blond from the bed then removed the collar and cuffs so he could stagger off to the shower. As soon as James was done with his own shower though, he was presented again with the collar and the unspoken demand that it be refastened. The cuffs went safely away in a drawer.

They had takeaway again on the couch for dinner, pizza this time, James feeding Steve bite by bite as he knelt in front of him. He hadn’t requested this, Steve had just plonked himself down there, giving him a look that was close to challenging. James had just shook his head and smiled.

“You could stay?” Steve asked, later. He was lying on his side, head resting on James’ thigh.

Staying was out of the question, especially not in the same bed as Steve, even if his hands were bound and he couldn’t touch him. Sex was one thing but James just wasn’t ready for that level of intimacy. 

“I have a spare room.” Steve suggested. “The bed even has sheets.”

“Fancy.” James grinned. He was tempted, a little bit, but ultimately… no sleep overs. Not yet. “Thanks but I can’t.”

Steve sighed.

“You busy tomorrow? I’ve got a work thing during the day but I’m free in the evening.”

“Can I let you know? We’re open late tomorrow, got a couple of early bookings but there’s always the chance of walk-ins.”

“Sure.” Steve had twisted his head enough to see the geometric banding around James’ wrist. “Did you use a ruler? Those lines are very precise.”

“Nah, all free hand. But…” James turned his wrist over so the wonky lines on the underside were on show. “It took practice.”

“Is there, like a tattoist qualification?”

“There is.” James didn’t bother to hide his pride. “And I am. Apprenticed with Nat for three years.”

“You’d need that amount of time to build up your skills? Did you just practice on yourself before being let loose on customers?”

“Partly, and also on anyone willing to get free, if potentially dodgy, ink. Nat has a friend who’s made it a point to volunteer for new artists’ first tattoos.” James laughed. “He’s built up a really interesting collection of pretty bad shit. He’s travelled all over the place to get them.”

“Your first is there?”

“Yup. A simple, totally awesome, lop-sided celtic knot.” 

“I think I’d like to see that.” Steve grinned.

“I’m sure it could be arranged…”

***

James wasn’t able to see Steve the next night, and the night after that Steve was busy again. And so it went. In all it was a week before they were able to meet up. 

: _I am def free thur ngt._ come over I’m gonna cook

: fancy mac and cheese again?

: bbq bring a salad :D 

Thursday afternoon Nat was snickering at James as he dashed about making a mess of her kitchen.

“You never cook for me.” She said. 

“You never like what I cook.” James tested the boiling potatoes with a knife: almost ready.

“You only know three recipes.”

“Because you won’t let me try anything new.” 

Nat was sitting behind him, but he could feel the close scrutiny. 

“You’re nervous.”

“Because you’re sittin’ there judging my cooking.”

That wasn’t it. James had wrestled with himself for days but he’d finally decided that he was gonna tell Steve why he wouldn’t let him touch him. This decision felt like… it was difficult, a whole ‘nother sort of intimacy. 

 

Getting out of the cab - again. This was going to get expensive - James sniffed appreciatively at the aroma of cooking meat wafting out over the street. It smelt really, really good, he hoped his potato salad was up to scratch in comparison.

Steve, beaming, opened the door.

“It’s good to see you.”

“And you.”

As soon as the door was closed Steve’s collar came out of a pocket and he presented it to James, automatically clasping his hand behind him as it was fastened around his neck. He’d held his breath while he was being collared but once it was done he was relaxed, eyes clear, completely irresistible. James, feeling greatly daring, brushed a kiss over his lips.

“Smells good.”

“Oh, the food?” Steve’s grin was playful. “Wait ‘til you taste it.” James held perfectly still, heart rate amping up as Steve whispered against his mouth. “It’ll make your mouth water.”

“Are we still talking about the food?”

Their bodies were angled away from each other in a classic A frame stance, like a 50’s television couple. Steve grinned again, bestowed his own light kiss on James then straightened up and backed away.

“I uh, brought some of my famous potato salad.” James cleared his throat.

“Can’t wait to get my mouth around that.” Another of those cheeky smiles.

“Oh my fucking god.” James tried to groan but the giggle ruined it. 

Steve laughed and loped off down the hallway. 

“Put the salad in the fridge.” He called back over his shoulder. “And grab us a couple of beers.”

 

“Are you expecting anyone else?” James eyed the sheer volume of food being prepared.

“If there’s any leftovers they won’t last long, trust me.”

It was… nice, and weirdly normal to stand around and watch Steve cook. Domestic, even, though part of James’ brain skittered away from that idea. They chatted about nothing much, and laughed and flirted. James found himself grinning stupidly every time he looked at Steve. It would’ve been embarrassing, except Steve wasn’t any better. What a pair of saps. 

Back inside, James wasn’t sure what to expect, but the largish dining table was set for two, at right angles on a corner, and Steve sat straight down in a chair, even though James had half expected him to go to his knees. The blond smiled happily though when James offered him a piece of meat on his fork. 

James’ mouth did indeed water at his first taste of marinated lamb ‘backstrap’ - as Steve called the bite-sized morsels of heaven. Crisp and spicy on the outside, soft and juicy inside. Oh god, and the rest of it? The crunchy crust on the soft fresh bread was amazing, and James had no idea that partially-cooked vegetables that looked half burnt could taste so fucking good. He was pleased to note that his humble salad offering didn’t disappoint.

“Is there mint in here?” Steve asked. “It’s good!”

“Yeah.” James was pleased all outta proportion. “I sometimes make it with cilantro, but there was none fresh.”

Steve nodded, went to say something then stopped himself, looking down.

“What?” James prompted.

“I was just gonna suggest I could grow some here.” He peeked at James through his eyelashes. 

“You could, uh, you could use it in your own cooking.” James suggested.

“But I’m not here regularly.” How did a guy that beefy get away with being so adorably shy? “Someone would need to look after the plants.”

Oh.

“Well. I guess. If you had a tenant? That could come through and look after them for you?” James was rubbing absently at his sternum. 

“I’ll have to look into that.” Steve said, softly. He stood up, grabbing his empty bottle. “More beer...?”

Amazingly, it didn’t get awkward after that. The silences stretched but they were easy. A couple of times James felt Steve’s foot nudge up against his underneath the table, the occasional bump of their knees. Testing the boundaries, was he?

“I want to explain to you.” James didn’t quite look at Steve. “About the no-touching.”

Nat was the only person who knew about James’ family life and how the… repercussions had carried forward, fucking things up for him as an adult. She knew, because James had drip-fed her the information over years as he came to trust her. Steve though? It all came out in a solid chunk because once he’d started, James couldn’t stop.

Steve had listened silently and sympathetically to it all; how James’ parents had despised each other and blamed the soulbond for not being able to escape. How all the baggage of myths and traditions, and decades of fucking media-fed societal expectations of happy-ever-after had set James up with the belief that a soulbond was the pinnacle of love, which contrasted so sharply with his lived experience that it seemed he was looking at a whole different country on the other side of a chasm that he just couldn’t cross. About how the confusion of this disconnect had made him withdraw, emotionally then physically, to protect himself. How it had all got too much after his parents’ car crash and he’d run away, and how since then sex and romance and relationships were… well.

“Shit, James, I’m so sorry.”

Steve’s hands were clenched together tightly in front of him on the table. James knew he wanted to reach out and comfort him, and in a way that made his breath catch with something that wasn’t exactly fear, James realised he wanted that too, but… 

“I will help, however I can.” Steve’s face was open and honest. 

“You don’t have to.” James shrugged. 

“But I want to.” Steve took a breath, like he was going to make a declaration, which James simultaneously did and emphatically did not want to hear. “I really like you. I think we have a chance for something really good between us, yeah?” He leant forward. “I’m safe. You can’t bond with me.”

“I know. Intellectually, I _know_.“ James’ treacherous heart thumped warmly in his chest. “But it’s going to take time until… I’m sorry.”

“We can work through this.” Steve was calm, determined. “We will.” 

***

He was too raw after that to stay. Steve was disappointed but accepted his decision, lowering his head to have the collar removed, because that was the least James could do for him. James retreated to the empty silence of his studio apartment because he couldn’t even face Nat right then. 

He lay on his back on the bed, fully dressed on top of the bedclothes, in the dark, staring at the ceiling with his hands folded over his sternum. Nat had mentioned a few times that perhaps he should see someone, professional, to talk about this. James had always rejected that out of hand because… well, actually he didn’t know why ‘because’, just because. Maybe she had a point though.

There was a message on his phone: Steve was going to be out of town again. James squashed right down the malicious thought that he wasn’t really going to do that, he just didn’t want to see him any more. 

***

Steve was back after a week. He met James in the cafe near Nat’s studio for lunch. He smiled broadly when he saw James but underneath that he looked tired and drawn, which immediately kicked up James’ protective instincts and wiped away any of the niggling doubts he’d been harbouring. Steve waved it off though saying he’d ‘had worse’, and just needed some sleep. Which he was absolutely going to do after lunch, he’d wanted to see James first is all.

James absolutely did not grin like an idiot at that.

“I’d like to visit the Zoo.” Steve had said, stifling a yawn. “Tomorrow. Come with me?”

They agreed on a time to meet there, then Steve went home, after James had quizzed him about his fitness to drive. 

“It’d be such a fucking waste if you got smeared across the road.”

Steve had laughed uproariously at that gruesome image, surely an indication of how tired he really was.

“I’ll text you when I get home.”

He had, along with a picture of his bare feet sticking out from the covers. There was no explanation, and he didn’t remember taking the photo let alone sending it on when James brought it up the next morning in front of the lemurs exhibit. James had sworn blind right then that in future he wasn’t going to let him drive when he was that tired. Steve’s dopey, pleased blush had momentarily flustered James into silence. 

The zoo trip had been great, but later, at Steve’s, with him cuffed face down on his bed, the noises he was making and the bunching of the muscles on his back and shoulders as James fucked into him… that was the best bit.

 

They went on a number of dates over the next few weeks; the Botanical Gardens, the New York aquarium, the Zoo, again, ‘cause Steve was enchanted by the penguins; small museums and galleries that James had never even heard of. 

“I’m ashamed.” James had said over dinner at a very swish restaurant after spending the afternoon investigating the Transit Museum. “I’ve lived here ten years and had no idea half this stuff existed.”

Steve shrugged.

“Happens a lot. You live somewhere but never really explore it.” He gave James another of his patented, guaranteed-to-make-him-melt, shy smiles. “Thanks for coming with me.” 

There was also a lot of dates where they didn’t leave Steve’s house, where they were both happy to play and indulge themselves. Steve was very forthright when he wanted something, and he particularly liked it when James fed him, frequently food he’d cooked himself. James, for his part, was getting more comfortable with touching Steve, running his hands over his back and ass and thighs. And shoulders. My god, those shoulders. Steve was always, always bound up in such a way he couldn’t touch James. He wanted to, James knew, but he never asked.

James began to feel like he was actually getting not too bad at this ‘relationship’ thing. They were moving forward steadily. It was probably going to be okay.

***

It happened so quickly.

They’d finished fucking - Steve on his side, hands cuffed to his collar; James behind him, loving the skin to skin almost more than the feel of Steve’s body opening for him. James had uncuffed Steve, who’d promptly fallen into a doze. James had meant to do the usual post coital clean-up for them. He hadn’t meant to lie down, he certainly hadn’t meant to close his eyes…

The warmth along his side was both comforting and unsettling, but it was the feel of something touching the middle of his chest that had him hurtling out of sleep in a panic. He’d intended to grab Steve’s hand and shove it away from where it was resting on his sternum, on his fucking ‘mark, but he’d grasped his wrist then couldn’t let go … 

James had actively avoided stories and descriptions about The Moment, for years and years, but he knew what was happening. It was pretty fucking obvious.

_Glorious. Soaring. His heart..._

“ _No_.” James ground out.

“James?”

Steve was looking at him, still sex-scruffy but his eyes were wide with disbelief, his expression sliding into wonder. Whatever he saw on James’ face though changed his expression entirely. James ached to see the fear and uncertainty.

He snatched his hand away from Steve’s skin. There was a ‘mark there, where there’d never been one before, on the back of his wrist, faint, but getting stronger. 

“ _No_.”

He flung himself out of the bed, away from Steve. Jeans, t-shirt, no shoes then he was scrambling down the stairs, down the hallway and out to the street and the midday light.

James ran. Blind panic and rage fuelling him for two long blocks, barely aware of anyone else around him. He stopped abruptly at the small, enclosed park nearby. His ‘mark was fucking burning. James whimpered and pressed the heel of his hand to it, pushing it back into his body.

_Steve._

He’d just run out on him, left him alone to deal with... this. A different flavoured panic surged up: what sort of asshole was he? He fought the urge to run back, forced himself to walk, though every nerve in his body was screaming at him to hurry hurry hurry. 

The front door was unlocked. James couldn’t remember if he’d shut it behind him on his way out.

“Steve?”

“Through here.”

James shut and locked the door behind him. 

Steve was sitting on the couch, hunched in on himself. He was wearing tracksuit pants, but that was all, except for the collar and cuffs. He looked up as James came in and his face… oh jesus. Heart ripped out and bleeding

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Steve blurted out before James could speak. “I’m so sorry.”

James approached him cautiously, desperately fighting the urge to touch and hold. He made himself stand two paces away from his… he couldn’t even fucking say it.

“I didn’t think this could happen.” Steve was mastering his distress, putting on that brave face. “But it doesn’t have to… we don’t have to, to do anything about it.”

“What - “ James cleared his throat. “What are you talking about?”

“We can deny the bond.”

“How?” James snarled. “It’s already there!”

“We don’t have to follow through.” Steve’d tucked his hands between his knees, hiding his ‘mark from them both. James wanted to snatch it back out into view. He remained still. “There’s documented cases, loads of them, about… about abandoned soulbonds. “Where for whatever reason, new soulmates didn’t have a chance to be together.”

The idea was horrifying, nauseating.

“Their bond doesn’t set.” Steve continued. “If… if we walk away from each now, the bond won’t set.”

“That’s insane.” 

“It’ll hurt - “ Steve hurried on, not looking at him. “ - and there will never be another chance to form a bond with anyone else but…”

 _That’s what you want_.

The unspoken words hung between them. James took an involuntary step forward: his ‘mark continued to burn and burn. Relief was just there, right there, in front of him, sad-eyed and wounded.

“You’d fucking do it to, wouldn’t you, if I asked?” James whispered, hoarse, half aghast, half obscurely proud. “You’d walk away and not look back.”

“Yes.” So quiet. Barely audible.

“What do you want?” James demanded. “And don’t say ‘whatever you want’. I won’t accept that. What do you want?”

Steve raised his eyes. 

“I want this. Of course I fucking do.” He was firm, fierce almost. “But if you don’t - if you truly don’t, then...” 

It was the tears that did it, brimming in Steve’s eyes, that he wasn’t making any attempt to disguise because he was so fucking… brave, even when his heart was clearly breaking.  
Some sort of distressed noise forced itself out of James’ mouth, then he dropped to his knees in front of Steve, within reach but still holding back.

“I’m so fucking scared.”

“Me too.” Steve choked a laugh. “And yet not.” He took his hands out from between his knees and placed them on his thighs. 

James couldn’t tear his eyes away from the now strong pattern. His fingers twitched.

“James.” Steve’s voice had lost it’s wobble. It was calm and strong. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

He held out his hand. James took it, laced their fingers together then, resolutely, placed it over his sternum. They stared at each other.

“Oh my god, that’s…”

“It’s right.” James was still trying to master his terror through the exhilaration. “It’s _right_.”

 _They stared at each other for an eternity._ That was one of the many soulmate cliches James had scoffed at before… before. But he truly had no idea how much time had passed before Steve spoke again. 

“I need to make a call.”

 

Steve’s friend, Sam, who had a key apparently because he let himself in, turned out to be the good-looking black man in the photo on the fridge. He stood in front of them, calm, assessing. His gaze lingered on the collar and cuffs Steve was still wearing but there was no judgement.

“Steve?”

“It’s…” Steve laughed, helplessly. “We’re soulmates.”

“No way!” James was watching Steve’s friend closely. There was nothing but delighted disbelief in his face. “That’s… oh my god!”

Steve held up his wrist, to show the ‘mark. Sam looked closely but didn’t touch it, which was just as well because James wasn’t sure how he’d react if he had. 

“Well, captain, I’d say your moon-month starts now.”

James had forgotten about that, the full lunar cycle a newly bonded pair were given, free from any other obligations. The settling-in tradition went back forever. Children conceived during this time were considered lucky, though James had a thing or two to say about that, but then again… he glanced at Steve. Maybe he was lucky. 

“I’ll get the paperwork started.”

“Sam…” Steve stood up and hugged his friend. “You’re the best.”

James had sort of expected to feel jealous, but he wasn’t. It was obvious Sam and Steve were close, as it was obvious to him, now, that Steve was affectionate, and that he’d restrained himself around James. James castigated himself silently: he was a shit friend, a shit boyfried, he was going to be a shit soulmate. Steve glanced back at him with a small frown and James resolutely shoved it all aside.

“Congratulations, man, I am so happy for you.” Sam was saying. “I’ll get some groceries in. You’re not gonna want to leave the house for, oh, a week at least.”

Sam left, with smiling congratulations for both of them this time, then James and Steve were alone. James stood up and faced his… his… 

“I don’t know what to do.” James confessed.

Steve smiled at him, a small but purposeful smile.

“We’re going to hug. I’m going to put my hands on you. It’s going to be fine.”

James held himself still as Steve approached, then let himself be enveloped in warmth. Steve’s arms were around his chest, they were standing toe to toe, bodies touching all the way down the front. It wasn’t terrible. 

James raised his arms and tentatively settled them around Steve’s waist. Steve dropped his head to James’ shoulder; he could feel his smile against his neck. 

It _wasn’t_ terrible.

“Move in with me?” Steve murmured. “If it’s not too soon to ask.”

James swallowed, tightened his grip: the thought of not being near Steve was making him anxious.

“Can I have the basement?”

“Sure but I get the study, all right?”

There was a synchronicity to that: James down in the dark, Steve up in the light. Balanced. Opposite but complementary. Two halves of the whole.

***

They ended up back in the bedroom, undressing somewhat self-consciously, which was just fucking ridiculous, really, but with this new awareness of each other...

“Do you want to…” Steve raised his wrists.

Did James want to bind him? Yes. But he was going to have to get used to Steve being close and handsy eventually. He steeled himself.

“No.”

Steve’s smile was a reward in its own right. 

They lay on their sides, facing each other. Steve, after checking with a glance that it was permissible, was tracing his fingers over James’ obscured ‘mark. 

“I’d like to have seen this.”

“I can draw it out for you.” James offered. He remembered the pattern, it was seared into his memory.

“I’d appreciate that.” The tips of Steve’s fingers kept circling, circling. “What was the augury on it?”

“Artist.”

“Oh.” Steve’s hand stilled. “That’s… 

“That’s what?” James was straddling the line of being genuinely curious, and waiting for the destiny train to smack into him. Again. 

“I wanted to be an artist.” Steve chuckled quietly. “When I was younger. Before reality got in the way.”

James was remembering how Steve had first looked at his tattoo, the depth and breadth of his appreciation. 

“When was the last time you - “ He had no idea what medium Steve had worked in. “ - Created something?”

“Years.” Steve sighed. “I pretty much gave it away when I joined up.”

“There’s room for both, isn’t there?” James brushed his fingers over Steve’s ‘mark, lighting up their connection.

“I guess I could try again.” Steve was unsure. “But it’s been so long.”

“Are you worried you’re gonna be crap at it?” James teased. “‘Cause you know that’s what’s gonna happen when you start.”

“Yeah, I know.” Steve laughed quietly. “Just promise me you won’t mock my childish attempts.”

James grinned, angling forward so he could kiss Steve’s forehead.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’ll show you my first ideas for tattoo designs and you’ll feel like you’re in good company...”

***

It was early evening now and Steve, emotionally exhausted, was deeply asleep. James wasn’t in much better shape but he hadn’t been able to drop off, not with so much stuff churning around and around in his head.

He’d heard the front door open just a little while ago, tensing before he recognised the sounds of someone bringing in plastic bags then moving around the kitchen, opening the fridge, cupboards. Sam, making good on his promise of groceries. He hoped for Steve’s sake he and Sam could be friendly, at least.

Speaking of friends, it was time he rang Nat. James slid away from Steve, edging out of the bed so as not to disturb him. He retrieved his phone then walked naked through to the other end of the floor, to the study.

He sat down on the floor, back against the wall, facing the window.

“... Nat?”

“Oh hello.” She waited a beat or two. “James?”

“I’ve um… I’ve got a soulmate.” He could hear the sob in his voice.

There was a longer pause.

“Steve?”

“Uhuh.”

She didn’t ask him how, or exclaim at the impossibility and he was so thankful for that.

“How are you?” She asked.

“Terrified.” James’ chest heaved. “What if I fuck this up?”

“James.” Nat was sharp. “Listen to me. You are not your parents. You are not going to fuck this up. If you think you are you will talk to someone. Me. A counsellor. Steve. Understand?”

“I… yes.” He was grateful for the direction, to be honest.

“Good. Don’t worry about anything. I will shift your appointments.”

“Thank you.”

“Does this mean I get my couch back, asshole?” He heard her light laugh, there was a wicked edge to it. “I am going to find the stupidest, most maudlin congratulations card…ooh ooh, with one of those annoying musical chips that don’t shut off properly!”

“You are such a cow.” James sniggered. “Do your worst. I dare you.”

“Go.” Nat was still amused with herself, he could tell. “Be with your soulmate.” 

James ended the call, leant his head back against the wall. There was a soft knocking on the wall outside the study.

“Can I come in?” It was Steve, naked as well.

“It’s your study.” James wiped his eyes.

Steve settled beside him, turning his torso enough he could rest his head on James’ shoulder. A big arm slid behind his back, around his waist, the other settled across his lap. James rested his cheek on the top of Steve’s head, his hands on his forearm. Together they watched the sky darken in to night.

***

Epilogue:

Sam had been spot on in his assessment: it was a week exactly before they left the house, before they even felt the need for anything other than themselves. But the food Sam had brought them had almost finished, and Steve was tired of cooking so, dinner out… and some shopping.

“Uh…” Steve said, unsure as he looked at the display of fetish accoutrements in the shop window.

“Come on.” James said, taking his hand. “I want to buy you something nice.”

“Ooookay.” 

“And I want to show you off.” He pulled him to the door.

“... what…?”

“Slim Jim! _Oh - !_ ” Rafi’s expression was everything James could’ve hoped for. “ _Hello_.”

“This is the ‘special boy’” James smirked, enjoying himself.

Steve shot him a look then nodded to the rotund man behind the counter. 

“Hi, how’re you doing?”

Rafi gave him the once-over.

“Not as well as Jimmy Jim, that’s for sure.”

James grinned harder: yeah, Steve could have that effect on people.

“We’re gonna avail ourselves of your fitting room, okay?”

“You don’t have a house to go to?” Rafi muttered, loudly. “You clean up after yourselves! I’m not your maid.”

James led Steve over to the harnesses.

“What do you think?”

“I…” Steve was staring. “Don’t know where to start.”

James grabbed a couple of different styles off the rack.

“Let’s try them on.”

Behind the scant privacy of the changing room swing door, James hooked a finger in the large central ring of a classic, x-across-the-chest ‘bulldog’ harness. and forcefully tugged Steve towards him, his pupils suddenly wide and dark.

“What do you think?” James said, low-voiced, eyes focused on his soulmate’s lips. “This in the same blue as your collar?”

Steve nodded decisively. 

“Yeah, that’ll be good. Great.”

“And there’s some wide, solid thigh straps as well. Your cuffs will hook up nicely to those.”

“Same colour?” 

“You betcha.” James whispered against his mouth. “You’re spoilt.”

“I’m worth it.” No hesitancy at all.

“You sure are.” James pressed him bodily against the cubicle wall, sliding a hand down the front of Steve’s jeans.

James’ phone rang and he groaned aloud. He knew who it was going to be: only they had such perfectly shit timing.

“ _Bucky Bucky Bucky_!”

His sister’s voice over the phone sounded loud in the cubicle.

“Hey, Lizbeth.” 

“Marie’s birthday is in a fortnight.”

“So soon?”

“She’s having her twenty-first party in a club! Can you come, please please please? For Marie? And you can meet Andy at the same time! You don’t have to stay for the party, I promise, it’s gonna be full of Marie’s weird friends anyway.”

James glanced at Steve who was grinning.

“Yeah, okay, I can do that.” He waited for Lizbeth’s happy - loud - noises to subside. “Can I uh, bring someone?”

Silence.

Then.

“Of course!” And more excited noises. “Who? Bucky, tell me!”

“Text me the details.” James said quickly. “Gotta go. Loveyoubye.”

He hung up, then switched off his phone for good measure. He looked at Steve sheepishly.

“Is that all right? Kinda dropped you in it.”

“Sure!” Steve enthused. “I’d love to meet your sisters.” He gave James a quizzical look. “Bucky?”

“Nickname. Middle name’s Buchanan, so…”

“Can I call you Bucky?”

“What? No. My baby sisters call me that. You using it would just be weird.”

“Bucky.” Steve smirked, drawing it out. He kissed James’ neck under his ear. “ _Bucky… Buck.._.”

James went to protest further but mentally shrugged and let it go: he knew perfectly well he was going to let Steve call him that. 

Spoilt? Yeah, but worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't manage to work in a fireplace, sorry, ran out of time!


End file.
